The White Knight
by Galiko
Summary: AU. Written with Corinna aka daphnerunning. Set two years after Leo becomes Glen, he summons what remains of Elliot back to become his chain, the White Knight. Even with Elliot 'back', however, Leo still is far from himself, and still bent on restoring the balance of their world... all while keeping Oz sealed within Pandora's dungeons. Elliot/Leo, Vincent/Gilbert, Vincent/Ada, etc.
1. Chapter 1

It's a pointless endeavor.

The sidelong glances from Vincent tell him as much, but Leo ignores them, slips away quietly when he finally manages to rid himself of company for the evening. The Abyss, as per usual, is a surprisingly warm, comforting thing-thrumming and alive around him, a womb in its truest form.

Even still, he doesn't _need_ to be here.

Even without the full arsenal of the 'standard' chains Glen Baskerville usually maintains, Leo knows he's far from helpless. Jabberwock alone is enough, and yet there's a certain pressure, isn't there, to have _at least_ five of something. Drawing the red cloak tighter about himself, Leo lets him sink into that darkness, reaching, grasping for something.

Boredom, a sense of impassivity, dredges up the urge to reach and find far more than anything else-never mind the still-unpleasant ache of what he can't have, what he still thinks about having lost, even after a pair of years has gone and passed.

Something stirs.

It doesn't open eyes yet-it has no eyes yet, but it remembers what it was like to see.

Cast out of the world above, rejected by the darkness of the Abyss, it has waited, for something that it knows will never come.

Something has come.

It tugs at what would be a heart, if it still had a heart, in what would be a body, if it still had a body.

Something stirs, and regrets, and begins to ache.

And that's certainly _something._

Even after two years, Leo hardly fancies himself as skilled and poised as any _Glen_ should be-he is still Leo, he supposes, at his very core, much to the chagrin of his followers. It's with that thought in mind that he hesitates a bit to beckon, to touch and encourage the chain that he feels, more curious than anything.

He has not, after all, had to go _fishing_ for one like this; not yet.

Regret brings memory.

It's not his own-he? is it a he?-but a memory nonetheless. Perhaps it's a part of the Abyss. Perhaps it's a remnant of what he once had been. That feels right, when he-yes, definitely a he, he remembers that-thinks it.

He remembers some of what he had been.

It hurts.

He doesn't think he has a body-not yet, not quite, just an elusive form that isn't anything yet. It feels the memories, and something changes.

Wisps of smoke-fog-mist coalesce, and there is form to it now, a long sword-arm and a pair of towering wings, ice and mist if not yet solidity.

_Another bird?_

Well, Leo supposes he _is_ thinking along the lines of wings, so it would make sense-even if this chain feels everything _but_ avian. He's curious, infinitely so, but rather than outright stare, he waits, shivering at the chill that follows the thing's appearance and huddling further underneath his cloak in the process.

"Do I name you?" he idly wonders aloud, "or do you come with one." _I swear, Vincent is better at this than I am._

There is something he is supposed to be.

There is something he is supposed to remember.

He tries to look at the thing, at the person that has brought the feelings and form down into this place. He doesn't have eyes yet, but he can see nonetheless. He can feel Her pushing at him, urging him forward, telling him that this is it, this is the one he's been waiting for since before he knew he was waiting, since before he knew he was a he.

"It hurts to look at you."

The words are an odd whisper, carried on the currents of a breeze to make up for the fact that they were expelled from no lungs. For the first time since coming to the Abyss-since existence-he feels like he could, if only he had an image, take true is something he is supposed to be.

There is something he is supposed to remember.

He tries to look at the thing, at the person that has brought the feelings and form down into this place. He doesn't have eyes yet, but he can see nonetheless. He can feel Her pushing at him, urging him forward, telling him that this is it, this is the one he's been waiting for since before he knew he was waiting, since before he knew he was a he.

"_It hurts to look at you._"

The words are an odd whisper, carried on the currents of a breeze to make up for the fact that they were expelled from no lungs. For the first time since coming to the Abyss-since existence-he feels like he could, if only he had an image, take true form.

It isn't the words, not even the voice, but the way they're _said_ that makes Leo jolt, flinching as if he's been slapped. Too familiar-too starkly familiar somehow, making him think suddenly and acutely of things that hurt _him_, down to the woven rug on the cold, stone floor of _Elliot's_ bedroom, the heavy down comforter, dark wood and darker tea still that only the Nightray family seemed to favor-

His eyes are wet when he blinks hard, trying to chase memories away with a shake of his head and failing the more he thinks about it. Even his ears throb, two year old piercings making him want reach up and twist the damned posts, and Leo knows he would, if not for how his hands shake.

"Do it anyway," he whispers, rocking back onto his heels. _Elliot_ was never afraid to look.

The words carry a tone of command, despite their softness, and his gaze intensifies. Something...something about this one, this single person in here by his own volition, is breakingly familiar.

The Will of the Abyss speaks to him in fluted tones, telling him that this is the man who can come and go through her chambers, but that has nothing to do with what he grows more certain of with every passing second, as another will presses on his, forcing him further into a shape that feels more than remembered, it seems right.

He's nearly shaped when his gaze, such as it is, happens upon those intense, startling eyes.

He has eyes now, and a strong arm with a cold-hilted sword, and in holding those eyes he has a face and chest and legs and toes and a small dot just brushing one cheekbone.

HIs voice is dry-he has a voice, has a throat, and his feet touch what would be the ground were they anywhere but the Abyss. "You...I know you. Have known you."

It's still a little bit of a question.

For a moment, Leo's not quite sure how to breathe.

He's actually not sure if this is what he wants, or if he's hallucinating or-well, it is the Abyss, who knows what is real or not half of the time? He exhales a sort of high, hysterical laugh, rocking backwards as he reels, dizzy, from the _sight_.

It could be Elliot-_is_ Elliot, in the flesh, except older, stronger, broader at the shoulders, strong and sure and handsome and-

"You're not him," Leo finally manages, and he clutches tighter at his own cloak, sinking down into it. "For one, you're much too tall." Except Elliot would be, two years from when he died, wouldn't he?

Memory slams into him like a locomotive, a sudden gasping ache in every part of his new body, and he knows it's true. "I..."

It feels good to say "I." It feels like he's a person, instead of the idea he has been.

"A boy," he says, hushed, recitative, as the images crash over him in waves. "A boy, the last, loved those who betrayed him and books and the piano and the way cats look like they're about to come up to you but then run away gracefully at the last second-"

His head hurts, the first time in years he's had a head, and his eyes fix on the man who isn't the boy he knew. "You-glasses and secrets and always in the library and you could never wait for me to catch up, had to read ahead in the series even if it meant staying up all night, blood on my lips and-"

He loves the pain, because it feels like _something_ again. "Name me."

Vincent is right-this _is_ a horrible idea.

Worse still is how he can't look away, though; how it's Elliot, plain as day before him, except _not_. He's clad in white, cold and icy and glittering and very, very obviously a _chain._ Leo strangles a sound into the back of his throat, guilt so suddenly sinking into the pit of his stomach that he can't even _think_.

Elliot could have stayed dead, should have stayed dead, and yet-

"… You're… Elliot Nightray," Leo murmurs, gaze finally dropping, hiding beneath the heavy fall of his lashes. "Except not really, he's dead-I-" He swallows, slow and hard. "You're like a knight now, something out of a book. The White Knight."

Elliot Nightray, the White Knight, feels the moment his flesh settles, blazing brightest white for a moment before he blinks. Is this how being a chain is supposed to feel? Is he supposed to remember _everything_ like this, supposed to he interested to see how Leo's cut his hair, supposed to feel like it's a little bit itchy under his shining new coat?

"Can't it be both?" he asks crossly, lowering the outstretched sword, thrusting it into the sheath at his belt. It feels natural, a motion he's practiced a thousand times, with muscles instead of magic.

"I never read any book about a White Knight, but you'd know better than I would, I guess." The strangeness of this place is oppressive, but it's something he understands. Part of it is a part of him, after all.

And all of him is focused on Leo.

It's a damn good thing he has so much practice in trying to look like he's not staring at his servant, even if the thought brings a little flush to his cheeks. Then, the implication of Leo _here_, in the _Abyss_, truly sinks in. "What are you doing down here? You're supposed to be alive!"

Leo's gaze snaps up, staring openly as everything seems to just-fall into place. _This_ is Elliot: rough around the edges, brash and gruff and-even thinking about it makes his lower lip tremble, and so he stubbornly bites into it, standing strong with a frown as he tries to sort of-almost-attempt to figure this out.

He really is an _awful_ 'Glen', isn't he.

"… I'm alive," he eventually manages, even if he hasn't felt like it for two years. "Elliot, you're-" He swallows, shakes his head to brush off that lingering ache in his chest. Looking at Elliot still hurts. It isn't quite Elliot, after all-perhaps just a part of him, if Leo understands how chains work correctly. It's enough, though, that he feels sort of shy and misplaced, not only dwarfed in the other man's presence, but having his hair cut, his face so obviously exposed, especially after having made such a fuss about it years prior, and so Leo shifts uncomfortably, looking away again. "You're the one that died, you know."

"I know that! You think I don't know that?" Irritably, Elliot pushes his hair back-it's longer now than he usually likes, but he ignores that, taking a tentative step toward his old servant, feeling awkwardly tall now.

He starts to reach for Leo, thinks the better of it, then catches the other man's eyes again and can't help himself, reaching out to rest a hand on Leo's cheek. He's cool to the touch, more than Elliot had remembered-and he does remember now, at least-and he strokes his thumb over areas of skin that Leo had always kept hidden, even from him most of the time. "Did it work, what I did? You didn't forget me, did you?"

It's difficult not to flinch at first, breath leaving him in a rush as that simple touch alone is enough to make him strangle a whimper. Leo's eyes shut as he sucks in a breath, as he sags forward against Elliot's hand before he can even think to stop himself, because god, this wasn't supposed to happen, but he's suddenly and acutely glad that it _did._

"You're an idiot," Leo informs him on a whisper. This is _weird_, and he's not sure he likes it (except that he does)-he's not supposed to be the master, _Elliot_ is. Elliot isn't supposed to be this tall (but he might like that, just a bit), and his touch isn't supposed to be quite this soft, and-there's a dozen other things, but Leo can't _think._ "A really big idiot. You think I could forget you? I stole your earrings, you know. They itch all the time, I can't stop thinking about you."

"You're the idiot, then. I'm the dead one, you're supposed to be having adventures for me, not missing me." Elliot wants to say that Leo doesn't even have pierced ears, but he can't. Obviously he does, and obviously it's been a while, since Leo looks so, so different. He wants to say that Leo looks good, and of course he does, but that's too inane and stupid and doesn't begin to cover what he wants to say, so he just pulls Leo closer, the only thing that's ever felt just right. He bends down, and it's a _lot_ longer than he remembers, to rest his forehead against Leo's.

"Did you get my message?"

"… Y-yes." His lip trembles again and Leo stubbornly sets his jaw, eyes still squeezed shut. "Nothing for you to apologize about," he mumbles, and tentatively, he lifts a hand, reaching out from underneath his cloak to rest it against Elliot's chest. It's far broader, firmer than he remembers, even underneath starched clothing, and Leo curls his fingers against it. "I'm tired of having _adventures_, Elliot."

"I'm sorry anyway."

If he'd been himself, if he'd been a person instead of a collection of regrets for the last however-long-it's-been, he'd probably have spent the whole time feeling guilty about having to leave Leo. There were other things, a hundred things he'd wished hadn't happened, but Leo's the one who's been left alone all this time, and that's a deep ache in his chest that he's got to make up for.

Strong arms wrap around Leo, pulling him suddenly close, crushing him to his chest, and Elliot buries his face in that silky-soft hair. It's a good way to keep Leo from seeing the way he wants to start crying, so he holds him all the more tightly for it, easier now that he's bigger. "You don't have to have them alone anymore, all right? I've made you lots of promises about that."

"… Stupid," Leo manages, huffing out a heavy breath into Elliot's chest. If he wasn't so sure he liked the height thing before, Leo's decided it's all right now, especially with how effortlessly Elliot seems to be able to drag him close and _hold him._ He sinks into the hold, breathing in the other man's scent that he's _sure_ is partly imagined, but it's good enough, enough to make that little twisting ache in his chest abate somewhat. "Don't want to talk about it any more," he murmurs, his hands dragging up to wrap into Elliot's hair, tugging, pulling to the root. "You're the worst. The last time I saw you, we…" He cracks a smile, weak and watery. "Your last words should have been about kissing and making up, at least."

"Kissing and making up? I said them to my _brother_, you know."

It's hard to stay angry when Leo looks so cold, like a fragile broken thing that Elliot has always, _always_ wanted to protect, no matter what had happened. He feels delicate in Elliot's arms, feels like a shadow of his former self, even if he's older now. "But...I wouldn't mind kissing and making up now. If you're not going to scold me, I mean."

"As if your brother didn't _know_," Leo points out underneath his breath, but he's already lurching that much farther forward, stretching up on tiptoe. "I don't have anything to scold you about, anyway-you've a dozen things on me, but-"

Leo is too short now, and god, he was too short back _then_, and Elliot's probably a good six inches taller now. Leo had been cute back then, and Elliot still thinks he's cute, even with such an air of sad, cold distance between them. He stoops down to kiss Leo, and chuckles a little at how far he has to go. It's all right, because it's laughably easy to wrap his hands around Leo's waist and hoist him up, murmuring, "I was always terrible at scolding you," before claiming his lips in a possessive, almost frenzied kiss.

He's of the might to squeak, maybe protest being hauled up like he weighs nothing, but then again, it's hard not to like it, especially after so _long._ Leo groans, the sound lost against Elliot's lips as his arms lock around the other man's neck, as his hands wrap up in his hair, his legs too eager to wriggle free of the fall of his cloak and squeeze tight to Elliot's hips, possessive and eager all at once. It would be too easy to melt like this, to just cling and let Elliot have his way with him, and the thought of that alone makes Leo shiver. "How much, exactly," he breathes between kisses, "do chains _remember?_"

Elliot doesn't want to stop kissing to answer him, not when kissing Leo feels like the most right thing he's ever done, no matter how many times he's done it before. Holding Leo makes him feel like a man again, instead of the misty remembrance he'd been for so long, and the way Leo squirms in his arms-yeah, he doesn't mind that at all.

"Everything," he murmurs, and at least, he thinks it's true. Leo's sharp as a tack, he's got to know that Elliot can't possibly speak for _all _chains, even if he is one himself (and he's not sure he is). He breaks the kiss to nip at Leo's neck, sucking hard right over the throb of his pulse, just the way he'd always loved. "Everything about you, most of all."

God, it's probably true enough, from the way his pulse jumps underneath Elliot's mouth, from the way the other man's lips close just right over the perfect spot to make him shudder and wriggle more insistently within Elliot's arms, his head tipping back with a heavy, ragged panting breath. "Good-good, now just-" Leo's fingers are nearly claws as they flex into Elliot's shoulders, as he for the first time in years feels flushed and hot enough to want to shed that cloak and bury himself against something _warm_-and god, if Elliot isn't just that. "Prove it."

Elliot doesn't know-doesn't _care_-if his urge to have Leo right here and now is due to how much he's wanted his lover for the past years, however many there have been, or if he just isn't sure whether he's able to leave this place.

Either way, he has to have Leo _now_.

His teeth drag against the smaller man's neck, and he kneels fluidly, laying Leo on what there is of a ground in the Abyss, never wanting to break contact for a second. "If I'm a chain," he mutters, fumbling with the catch on his ridiculously fancy, complicated trousers-so familiar, so strange- "then you'd think I'd be able to just make my bloody clothes disappear when I want to be inside you. Damn it! Help me get these off!"

Leo snorts, unable to keep from laughing-god, when was the last time he even _did that?_-no matter how highly strung his nerves are. "You know," he drawls, first reaching a hand up to undo the clasp of his own cloak, blood red wool a puddle on the Abyss's floor as he pushes himself up, fingers dragging their way down Elliot's stomach, "I'm not sure it's _proper_ for you to be ordering me around now." _Or perhaps that's part of the fun. _Leo shivers a little as his hand slides further south, cupping Elliot through his trousers, his breath hitching at how hard he is already-at how much _bigger_ he feels. He can't help but wonder if somehow, his mind was quite that lewd when it came to recreating Elliot's form, but god, he wouldn't put it past himself.

His fingers fumble, undoing the clasp before his fingers reach inside, wrapping around Elliot's cock and pulling it free with a little hitch of his own breath. Oh. Well. Apparently his mind really _is_ that lewd, and Leo feels his face heat accordingly as he points out to himself that Elliot's tall and grown and of _course_ he'd be bigger here, hard and heavy within his grasp and already straining against his palm.

Elliot's breath hitches, and he pitches forward a little, thrusting into his old servant's hand as he rests his forehead against Leo's shoulder. He gives a little grin, the kind that Leo's always been able to bring out in him, and murmurs, "Old habits die hard, huh?"

Speaking of old habits, it's a good thing for his rusty reflexes that Leo hasn't changed his clothes much in the last few years, because Elliot's fingers remember even if they're brand new. He makes short work of the jacket, the shirt, unable to stop himself from sucking and nibbling on every bit of newly-exposed flesh, marveling that something so familiar can taste so _new_.

His hips jerk up, rubbing himself against that talented hand, even as he traces a hand down Leo's chest, down to palm him through his own trousers. "Y-your hand feels smaller," he breathes.

Leo swallows hard, his fingers squeezing with the upward jerk of his own hips, a breathy groan escaping his throat as his legs spread on their own accord, eager and welcoming. "That's r-really-" He sucks in a ragged breath, thumb and fingers dragging over the head of Elliot's cock, smearing fluid before dragging back down slicker, stickier. He strangles a little groan into the back of his throat, trying not to think about how much he wants a _taste_. "I think it's you… that's so much _bigger_, Elliot." Not that Elliot was ever small. No, hardly-Leo remembers well how pleasantly sore he'd be, how it felt to be stretched out around his master's hard, thick cock, his hands digging into Elliot's chest, back arched as he'd fuck himself on Elliot's cock.

Never in his life (except for that one drunk time they don't talk about) has Elliot needed help getting Leo naked. He doesn't now, and maybe he's a little uncareful in how he strips the smaller man, laying him out bare like a feast beneath him, groaning low in his throat at the sight. "Whatever I am," he murmurs, nuzzling into the softness of Leo's hair, lips brushing across his ear, "you helped make me."

Even without a contract, Elliot knows intrinsically, automatically, that he will do anything in his power to protect this man. Even like this, confused about what he is, about what he's supposed to be doing, about how this whole thing works, he's never needed any of that to understand how much he wants to be with Leo.

He hooks his arms under Leo's knees, hoisting his legs up, and god, Leo seems so _tiny_. Belatedly, Elliot realizes that this isn't home, there aren't little fragrant bottles of oil in the desk drawer, and he spits into his hand a few times, wincing at the idea. "I can't-I don't want to hurt you, but-"

But it's always been just a bit too much, even if Leo always seemed to like it, and now it's got to be _more_, and it sends a flush to his cheeks to see the thick blunt head of his cock pressed against Leo's tight little hole.

A heady whine pulls past Leo's lips, his legs spreading wider as if that will help as he wriggles down against Elliot's cock, biting his lip as it presses against him, but still doesn't sink inside. It makes him want that much more, makes him arch his back and rut down like some mindless, desperate thing, and god, for a moment, just that _pressure_ is too much, making his own cock twitch and his hips jerk.

"It's fine-I'll be fine, just-" He has the mind to spit into his own hand, to reach down and drag that along Elliot's cock, his fingers slick as they squeeze around him, gently urging forward. "God, _please_, just put it in me-"

It's hard to say if it's his own desire or something else at work, something that makes him want to do as Leo says, obey his every wish as if it's an order, and Elliot doesn't _care_. The touch of Leo's hand, the sight of that face, the hot slick pulse of his flesh against Elliot's-it's too much, and he's never been so great at impulse control.

"God," he rasps, staring down, "your eyes are so beautiful."

Then he loses himself, crushing his lips to Leo's in a frantic haze of desire as he pushes forward, trying to be gentle, probably failing, as he sheathes the first few inches of his cock in that tight, slick heat.

It _is_ too much, Leo's mind and body alike tell him that as he's spread open, left trembling around just that much of Elliot's cock as it sinks into him. His breath heaves out roughly, hands reaching up to desperately scrabble at Elliot's shoulders as he pants against Elliot's mouth, his legs weakly quivering as his body surrenders to that burn, to that overwhelming sensation of being _too full_ before Elliot's even entirely inside of him.

He'd be a fool if he say he didn't _love it_, though.

"Please," he mindlessly groans, twisting, wriggling his way down against Elliot's cock, his own still rock hard, leaking over his stomach no matter the edge of pain, no matter how Elliot is too big and that it's been so long.

Elliot's breath leaves him in a strangled gasp, and he takes forceful hold of Leo's hips, trying to steady him before he _hurts_ himself, not that it's easy to do when nothing, nothing in the world or the Abyss, life or death, has ever felt this good.

"Easy, easy," he grunts, trying to remember that _one_ of them has to keep control. It's always been like this, one or the other, always a push and pull, and damned if that's not why they've always been so perfect together.

Leo's mouth is sweet and dark, his lips bruising red with Elliot's kisses, even as Elliot kisses him all the harder for it, groaning against him as he slides farther in. He gives up thinking then, lost in the blinding pleasure of Leo tight around him, the taste of his mouth, the feel of him shivering under Elliot's hands as he thrusts harder, filling him as far as he can, burying himself to the hilt inside his lover with a low, broken noise.

_God._

Leo _sags_ beneath him, every muscle a trembling, twitching thing, his mouth falling open in some soundless noise as his breath catches in his throat. Elliot's never been so deep inside of him before, never felt so thick and never stuffed him so _full_, and Leo's sure that he can't even summon the thoughts to _move_, no matter how he wants to writhe himself down against that big cock, to be yanked down onto it and to ride it until he can't _breathe._

It's with a whine that his hands flex into Elliot's back, toes curling as he summons enough strength to arch his back, rutting down like some animal no matter how it's too much, how it takes the breath out of him again and leaves him gasping. "Fuck me," Leo rasps out, hot and desperate against Elliot's mouth. "Just fuck me-"

A thousand thoughts cross through Elliot's mind-that Leo is stunning, a whore, beautiful, riding him like a slut, arching and whining like a cat in heat-but the only one he can think coherently enough to voice is "_Yes._"

He bites, sucks on Leo's bottom lip, drawing it into his mouth as he slams his hips up, driving himself deeper into the other man with every thrust, positive that Leo's _never_ felt so tight around him. He yanks Leo's legs apart as far as they'll go, trying to ease the ache he must be feeling just a little, because he _can't_ slow down, can't be gentle, probably couldn't even if Leo begged him, and all he's begging for is _more_.

With a wrench of his muscles, he hauls them back into a kneeling position, Leo's legs splayed out around his own, so he can lower the smaller man down hard onto his cock, filling him as deep as possible and holding him tightly, dragging a hand between them to curl around Leo's cock as he breathes, "Show-show me, how you look when you're mine, _please_, Leo-"

Leo can't _breathe._

It's one thing being on his back, held down and with Elliot's cock shoved up inside of him-it's something else entirely like this, writhing atop the other man's cock, the angle and gravity pushing him in that much deeper as Leo sobs, his thighs trembling, body squeezing tighter still because it's so _much._

He loves it.

Any other time and he'd try to put on a show-to be _good_ for his master by riding him however Elliot wants him to, with his hands digging into Elliot's chest and his head thrown back as he pants out the other man's name. But now, the touch to his cock is far, far too much, and Leo groans, his hips rutting forward against Elliot's hand, writhing, humping down against Elliot's cock because it's all he can _do_ when he's this hard, this needy, this full of cock. He feels far too spread open, muscles aching and twitching and clenching tight, and he comes with only another stroke of sword-calloused fingers, gasping and panting as he spills helplessly over Elliot's hand.

Elliot is lost.

At the same time, he's never felt so _himself_.

He wraps his arms around Leo hard, crushing the smaller man to his chest as his hips snap up into the unbelievably tight heat, and oh, he'll apologize _later_ for how much he's probably bruising the hell out of the man he loves so much with every powerful thrust.

He buries his face into Leo's hair, tears pricking at his eyes as he groans, helpless, useless, able to do nothing but slam as far inside as he can get, _no such thing_ as far enough or close enough when he's this lost, and he's truly gone, emptying himself deep inside his lover's body.

His arms feel locked in this crushing embrace, and he knows he's got to be squashing Leo, probably hurting him, but he feels too good to let him go just yet, breath shallow and fast, his cock pulsing with every heartbeat as he slowly, gradually comes back to himself. "I..."

He's not even sure what the words are.

"Missed you."

Leo shudders hard, squirming his way closer still-as if there's any distance left between them, as if he isn't plastered to Elliot by sweat and his own arms, tightly locked around Elliot's neck. Everything aches, and god, he doesn't want that to stop, no matter how he'll probably regret it later. "Missed you, too." The words come out all sorts of weak and watery and hoarse, and Leo huffs, burying his face back into the side of Elliot's neck, eyes stupid, uselessly wet. "It was my fault, I'm sorry, _sorry_-"

It hurts to see Leo cry, and Elliot pulls him back, tilting his chin up and kissing his face, kissing the tears away no matter that they're joined by a few of his own, splashing off his cheeks. "Shh-it wasn't your fault, it _wasn't_, it was my choice. I-I guess I wouldn't blame you if you were mad at me, though. I...made you a lot of promises that I didn't get to keep."

He remembers them, though. He remembers swearing that he'd take Leo across the ocean, all the books he was going to add to the library, to try and get him properly adopted by a good family, even if Leo had never seemed to care much for anything he'd offered-the point was, he'd _promised_.

"Stupid," Leo mutters, even as he shuts his eyes with a long, shaky exhale, unable to pull away from the soft touch of Elliot's lips. "I'm not mad. I'm the one that made all of this happen, it's my fault because I'm _Glen_-and now you're like this and I'm sorry, I should have just…" Listened to Vincent? God, that's something he doubts Elliot has ever heard.

"Glen?" Elliot's head tilts, mind still trying to make sense of everything even as the part of him that's the Abyss pulses, agrees, whispers that yes, of course he is. "Glen Baskerville? From Sablier? How can you..."

"Later," Leo interrupts, the idea of explaining all of _that_ enough to make him want to start crying-and possibly start throwing things-all over again. "I… we should leave. Get cleaned up…" He flushes hot, trying not to think about how _sore_ he is going to be (and at the same time, rather wanting to remember it).

It's easy to lift Leo off his lap, and a bit more complicated to get his trousers all squared away again. He ducks his head, a bit embarrassed in the aftermath, and wishing at the same time that he could go and grab the damp cloth from the basin in the washroom, cleaning Leo and himself as he'd always liked doing before. "All right. How do you want to do this? If you found a way down here, can you find our way out again? I don't know how easy it'll be for me to get out of here, but I'm sure I can protect us from however she tries to stop us," he says, sounding more confident than he feels, hand on the hilt of his shining new sword.

"… She isn't going to bother us," the smaller man wryly offers, biting the inside of his cheek to keep back a grimace as he wriggles his way back into his clothes, no matter the relative mess he's made of himself. He's still shaky, hair sweaty and mussed as it falls around his face, and Leo huddles himself back up into his cloak more as a shielding mechanism than any desire to actually be wrapped within it, considering how overheated he still feels. "It isn't as if I've done anything. If anything, you're something of a tribute to her power, so-" Leo hesitates, frowning a bit, remembering suddenly and very starkly that Elliot isn't exactly _human._ "It might be easier, though, if you're… well, wherever it is that chains go when we're not summoning you. I don't think there's a technical term." A pause. "Also, then you won't have to deal with Vincent."

There's a lot going on, and Elliot's honestly not sure how much of it he understands, and how much Leo is hiding from him. He understands a few things on instinct, and one of them makes him hesitate. "I...Leo, I can't bind to you. I'm not going to let you drink my blood. Don't you understand what it's like to be an illegal contractor? I'm _never_ letting that happen to you."

Leo gives him a sort of put out stare before reminding himself that Elliot really, honestly, even as a chain, knows _nothing._ "Elliot," he attempts on a sigh, "I'm not just _Leo_ now. Like I said before, I'm Glen-Glen Baskerville. An illegal contract isn't really an _issue_." He arches a brow. "If I say you're mine, you're _mine._"

The words-as little sense as they make-resonate inside of Elliot like a gong. He _feels_ them, intrinsically, and knows them to be true even as he blazes white for a moment. "Don't blame me for not knowing what's going on," he complains, even as he sheathes his sword properly, following Leo like something of a puppy. "I've been dead. And why wouldn't I want to see Vincent? I mean, you know, aside from why anyone wouldn't want to see Vincent."

"He's going to ask if we had sex," Leo blandly offers over his shoulder as he turns away, striding through the Abyss as if there's an actual path lit up before his eyes.

"What? Why-even he wouldn't do that! Probably," he amends, thinking of some of the more uncomfortable moments from the past. "Again."

Even so, it comes naturally to him, melting into the ether that is Leo's presence, giving him the constant feeling he's lurking just behind Leo's shoulder. It feels good, like a place he's always meant to be, and he whispers, "I'm here. Whenever you need me," as they climb toward the light.


	2. Chapter 2

It's been a long time since Leo has forgotten how to _not_ be lonely.

Certainly, he's surrounded by enough persons to not be on a day to day basis, but they aren't Elliot, never were, and so it isn't until now, until just a day ago upon acquiring this _chain_ that might as well be Elliot in the flesh all over again (his essence, what remains of him, coupled with the Abyss into something _permanent_) that Leo actually feels _well_ again.

Even still, having the man-no, chain's-presence lingering at his beck and call is hardly enough when he has spent so much time without. In the flesh is much better.

"Elliot." No, that's not quite right. Leo swings his legs over the side of the bed, raking a hand back over his scalp, hair springing back into place a moment later, albeit mussed. Really, he shouldn't have named Elliot as a chain… it makes things more complicated. "What was it… White Knight, get out here already."

The instant his name is called, every fiber of Elliot's being leaps at the chance, exploding into existence, sword in hand, every muscle tensed and ready for action. What had seemed so natural in life-to protect Leo, to be by his side, to keep anyone from hurting him-is beyond a compulsion now, it's his reason for existing.

He hits the world with legs spread and tensed, looking around the room for any threat to his beloved master. Upon not seeing an immediate danger, he turns, no less wary, and catches sight of Leo.

His expression softens instantly at the sight of the tousled hair, the relaxed ease of his pose, the relative calm and quiet of the place that used to be _his_, and Elliot wavers for a moment, hand flexing on his sword. "You called me?"

Leo just smiles at him, sleepy and _innocent_.

Or so he lets on.

"Mmhm. I was cold." Leo's lashes turn down, just slightly. "Your master could be in danger of dying from hypothermia, you know."

There's still the tug, the compulsion to make sure Leo's _all right_, even if he seems perfectly fine. Elliot kneels at his feet, running his hands down Leo's arms, clasping his hands, looking up into those intense, captivating eyes. His heart still thunders, partly from the perceived danger to his master, partly from the sight of the same man, sleepy and rumpled and looking like he'd like nothing better than to be _more_ rumpled. "You...want me to warm you up?"

God, maybe it _will_ be like old times, when Leo would reach mindlessly for him in sleep, clinging and nuzzling and _wanting_, and Elliot had never minded waking up because of it (no matter how he'd complain through his yawns at the breakfast table).

Ah, Leo likes this.

As much as he's of the mind that he's capable, now more so than ever, he likes the way Elliot looks at him, protective and worried and _there._ He likes the way Elliot grabs at his hands as he kneels, stares up at him like he really would kill any and everything that wants to hurt Leo, and he also rather likes the sense of naivety the other man still carries about him, like he doesn't _know_ that Leo is a plotter, a thinker, and always of the mind to play with him, just a bit.

"Don't you think it's cold? Here, I'll warm you up, too."

Leo's on his feet, giving Elliot's chest a little nudge with his knee to make him rise. "Do you remember that time in the hallway? When you just kept thinking someone would come around the corner and _see?_" Leo's smirk deepens. "There's no one to interrupt us now."

Elliot flushes at the memory, cheeks and the tips of his ears turning pink. "That time...you-"

Obviously Leo remembers, but Elliot's breath catches all the same, remembering the wet soft heat of Leo's mouth, the forbidden thrill of knowing they could get caught at any time, the frustration with himself for not being able to man up and stop his servant before he got disowned. "I...I remember." He swallows hard, then tugs Leo up with him by the tie, leaning down to brush his lips across Leo's forehead. "Almost a shame. You always got so hard when you thought we might get caught."

The memory of how Elliot is _right_ goes straight to Leo's groin, dragging a little shiver down his spine as he presses forward, slender but strong hands grasping Elliot by the arms to steer him away from the bed. "I don't need that… to get hard, though."

Elliot's back hits the nearest wall with a thump, and Leo is already pressed close against him, a hand dragging down, sliding between the taller man's legs. "Apparently," he murmurs, looking up at Elliot beneath his lashes as his fingers pluck at the fastenings of Elliot's trousers, "neither do you."

God, Leo's right.

Elliot would like to think that they're making up for lost time, what with how hungry he is for Leo, how needfully Leo grabs at him, but he knows they've never needed _reasons_ to shove each other into walls.

And because he knows Leo, and Leo knows him-knows that his legs will give out under his talented mouth unless he has something to lean against-Elliot spreads his legs a bit wider, leaning back against the wall. He rubs the pad of one thumb over Leo's lips, still soft, and god, Leo has such a tiny mouth it's hard to believe he's so good at this. "Didn't you say yesterday that you're supposed to be the master now?" he teases, tugging on a lock of silky black hair. "Maybe I should get on my knees for you."

Leo groans, breath hot as it washes over Elliot's hand, as his tongue flicks out to lick at the tip of Elliot's thumb before his lips properly wrap around it for a slow, deliberate suck. "Later," he breathes, all as he forces himself to pull back, sinking down to his knees, his hands trailing their way down Elliot's thighs. "Right now, need to taste you." His skin heats up as he says it, lips parted as his cheek rubs between Elliot's legs, against the growing bulge there. "Please."

Elliot's breath comes fast, shallow as his smile falters. "Like I'd ever say no to that," he mutters, trying to remind himself that it doesn't count as a two-year celibacy stint if he didn't have a body for the whole time.

He shoves his trousers down to his ankles, overly eager and not caring, hands twisting into Leo's hair. Just like with everything else, it's so familiar, and so different, and so _odd_ to see himself so large, the tip resting against Leo's lips. "Please," he whispers, echoing his master's words.

The plea barely escapes Elliot's mouth before Leo's tongue drags over the tip of him, slick and wet and hot as Leo breathes out a moan. His fingers twitch as they wrap around the base of Elliot's cock, squeezing, just slightly, all as his tongue licks a stripe along the underside of him, as his lips close sloppily around the head of him for a wet suck, panting as he draws back, just slightly, tongue out to taste the precome smearing his lips.

His jaw aches already, just with that first, initial stretch of his mouth around Elliot's cock-the first few inches sliding over his tongue, heavy and hard and _thick_, enough to muffle the groan that wants to spill from his throat. Leo huffs through his nose, glancing up through his lashes as his mouth slides down as far as he can manage. God, it's only half-way, and he gags a bit, skin flushing dark, and it's the fact that it's _difficult_ to swallow all of Elliot, the fact that he can't help but choke that makes him reach a hand between his own legs, grinding the heel of his palm against his own cock with a ragged exhale.

Leo's mouth should be illegal.

He'd thought so the first time they'd done this, urgent and fumbling in the music room, Leo always, _always_ knowing more than Elliot about just about any subject, and this had been no different. The wet heat engulfs him, and Elliot groans, hand tightening in soft dark hair, leaning hard against the wall for support.

He thinks to apologize, but one look shows Leo rubbing up hard into his hand, and that image is enough to make Elliot's cock throb. "You," he gasps, voice dark and breathy, "you like this-you like it more now, even-even though it's harder-I mean, bigger-I mean-"

It's too hard to think.

Leo's next nod is a careful one, no matter how _sloppy_ he feels as he wriggles himself closer, swallowing hard around Elliot's cock to take more of him. His hand slides to Elliot's hip, fingers digging in as he pushes, holds Elliot against the wall as he sucks and licks at him, wishing he could really, honestly groan, whine, tell Elliot how good it feels to have his mouth full of nothing but him when he finally manages to swallow all of him and looks up, mouth stuffed full of cock, lips stretched around him and eyes dark and _needy_ as he damned near nuzzles into Elliot's stomach.

_Fuck my mouth, please, do it_ is what he wants to beg, but god, a hand loosely scrabbling at Elliot's thigh, and a hand shoved between his own legs, wrapping roughly around his own cock will have to do.

Elliot has no idea how the hell Leo does what he does-how he's so good at this-how he can open that tiny mouth so wide-how he can take so much without gagging when Elliot's always been so terrible at it-how he can reduce Elliot to this needing, desperate thing with just a few swipes of his mouth.

He doesn't _care_.

He should be better than this, should be taking care of his master instead of the other way around, his mind nags, but all of that is out the window at the strangled little noises Leo is making, the little jerking motions of his own hand that make Elliot's breath come short, and his hands tighten as he groans, hips snapping forward to bury himself down the other man's throat. "I-sorry, I-"

The apology is a hasty, half-hearted thing, because Elliot knows Leo isn't the delicate thing he appears to be, and there's no way in hell he can stop now, not when it's so sinfully, painfully good to just hold Leo's head still and drive himself into that perfect, dark heat.

Leo can't help but gag, no matter how good at this he supposedly is, and maybe it's because he _likes_ that strain, the way it feels when Elliot's cock bumps the back of his throat before sliding down, the way Elliot holds him down, makes Leo _take it_ even when he can't catch his breath, swallows with each thrust and shudders hard as his own cock jumps in his grasp, leaking over his fist with each snap of Elliot's hips as he just uses Leo's face.

Wet, messy little noises pull from his throat, hot, overwhelmed tears streaking his face as Leo chokes around Elliot's cock and just wants more still, lending him to struggle against Elliot's hold, just for that bit of resistance, to savor the way Elliot loses control and yanks him back down.

God, he should stop, he should stop, he should really _stop_ because Leo's choking and gagging and trying to pull back, but like hell if Elliot even _can_. His hands just fist tighter into Leo's hair, hips snapping up hard, forcing himself into that pretty little mouth and down the other man's throat as hard as he can.

He probably shouldn't love the little _slutty_ noises Leo's making, or the tears streaking down his face, but he _does_. Every sloppy suck to his cock drives him further towards the edge, and Elliot groans, cock throbbing, pulsing against Leo's tongue. He wrenches his hips back, giving him a breath of air before sliding the tip back between those bruised, sticky lips. "Want-I want you to taste-"

Leo manages a shaky little nod, lips parted as he pants raggedly, bruised and sticky and slick. "Please," he rasps, tongue dragging a hot, wet trail over the tip of Elliot's cock, groaning as he feels it twitch, throb against his lips. Heat twists in his own groin, and god, he can't remember a time he's felt so _hungry_, so desperate for a taste of the other man. A strangled whimper escapes Leo's throat as his fingers cinch tightly around his own cock. "_Please_-"

It's impossible to tell what's his own desire anymore and what's Leo's will, pressing in on him, bending him to the other man's will-but really, hasn't it always been like that? And god, he's never cared less.

The flick of Leo's devilish tongue, the whimpering pleas falling from the other man's lip, the desperate look in his eyes-it's too much, and Elliot sags back against the wall with an almighty groan, hands fisted tight in Leo's hair, too tight, too much as he spills across that sinful tongue, flooding his mouth, holding him tightly in place and _god_ it's been far, far too long since he's had Leo lapping at the tip of his cock like he's _hungry_.

A weak, eager sound pulls from Leo's throat as he sucks and laps at Elliot, swallowing all he can, coughing as it spills down his tongue and lips, just too _much_ at once. There's nothing he can do to help himself, not when his own hand trembles as it strokes his cock, so hard that it hurts, that his knees spread wider against the floor as he ruts into his own palm, coming after only another moment of his own touch-over his hand, onto the floor.

He strains against Elliot's hold once more, twitching, quivering from overstimulated nerves, his tongue flicking out over his lips to catch what he's missed. "Tell me," Leo begins, breathless, hoarse, "tell me to lick it all up." _That I've been good, that I'm yours._

Elliot's breath leaves him in a strangled groan, and he leans down to rub his fingers across Leo's chin, letting him suck on what he's missed for a second before his other hand tightens, still in Leo's hair, and he forces his head down to the floor, a bare inch from the mess he's made. He can barely breathe, certain that no matter how hard he's just come he could fuck Leo's mouth all day when he looks as gracefully debauched as this, and his voice is rough as he grunts out, "Clean up your mess."

He knows this game. It's far from the first time. "Come on, I know you love the taste. God, you're so perfect, you make me want to fuck you again right now."

It doesn't take much to get Elliot to this point, and for that, Leo is eternally grateful.

He shudders as he follows the push, slinks closer to the floor, tongue flicking out to gingerly lap at his own come, breath short and ragged as his body still seems intent on trembling, reliving the lingering orgasm from only moments before.

"Do it." Who is Leo kidding, neither of them are good at _standing_ right now, but it doesn't stop him from liking the thought of Elliot's cock in him all the same. "You know… that I like it."

Elliot follows Leo to the floor, mindless, only conscious of how much he _needs_ this man, how much he'd want to follow those orders even if they were nothing of the sort, and he nearly rips Leo's clothes to pieces in his desire to get them off. He covers Leo's body with his own, still holding Leo's head down until he's _done_, long legs easily splayed out to the sides as he grinds his half-hard cock against Leo's ass.

"Is this what you want?" he breathes, nipping at Leo's ear. "You want me to hold you down like this, take what I want?"

Leo hisses out a hot, ragged breath, his head bowing low to the floor as he arches his back, grinding himself back against the hardening line of Elliot's cock. "Want you," he pants out, his hands curling against the floor, hair falling forward in a sweaty, mussed mess around his face. "J-just…" And he swallows hard, coloring at his next request, of all things. "Finger me first-I-want to remember… how good you always were at that."

It's a request that Elliot is only too happy to fill, though he nearly trips and falls on the way to the dresser drawer. "You kept the oil in the same place," he observes, slicking his fingers with the sweet, floral stuff before kneeling again, forgetting there's a bed nearby when Leo looks so content to be ravished on the floor. Oh, but he's missed this, missed it even before he'd died, given how hectic things had been leading up to it-but this, this wild abandon, rutting frantically against any surface they could manage, strong hands and clawing nails and the smell of their coupling in his nose, this is something he's missed desperately.

He wrenches Leo's head around for a kiss, no matter the taste-or maybe because of it-and circles his fingers around the pretty hole he knows so well, going slow because he knows it drives Leo insane, as if determined to prove to him that no matter what's happened over the last years, no one in the world will ever know Leo's body like Elliot does.

The sounds that pulls from Leo's throat is little more than a mewl, high and desperate as he pushes back against Elliot's fingers, trying his best to let them sink into his body, as if he wants to ride them like Elliot's cock. That thought alone is enough to make his eyes flutter, voice trailing into a groan against Elliot's lips as Leo sets his knees further apart, hips hiked up, knowing full well how much of a _harlot_ he looks-how much more of one he'd look like if he had control of his head, if he could press his face to the floor while he's being fucked by those long, elegant fingers.

Elliot's really starting to like how tall he is now.

It makes it laughably easy to bend all the way over, nuzzling into Leo's neck as he pushes two fingers inside, curling, stroking, twisting them even as his cock hardens so much further at the noises falling from Leo's lips. He pulls Leo's head back by the hair, loving the way it makes his back arch even further. "Like a cat in heat," he breathes, and nips sharply at Leo's neck, sliding a third finger inside to stretch him out. "That's it...open up for me, I need to be in you."

He's never quite understood how being with Leo brings out this side in him, lets him say things he'd never be able to say, well, sober. He'd certainly never be able to say them to anyone else.

Each stroke of those fingers, each press of them deep inside of him, stretching him wider, leaving him panting like some mindless, useless thing as he scrabbles at the floor-all of it just serves to make his own body that much more eager, his cock already hard and throbbing with each jump of his pulse. Every tug on his hair seems to go straight to his groin, too, leaving him gasping, jerking when he feels that burn of a pull on his scalp, breath hitching on a whimper as Leo grinds back into Elliot's hand, those fingers good but still not _enough._

"Please, please, please-" He might be babbling something else, about how good it feels, about how much he _wants_, but Leo's not really sure he can think past the need to have Elliot in him, stuffing him full.

Elliot's cock jumps, and he bites his lip, trying to catch his breath. That's not an easy task when Leo is writhing on his fingers like a harlot, every image of the most sinful whore Elliot's ever seen, wriggling and begging and-

Elliot spreads his fingers apart, gently, carefully easing in a fourth, something he'd rarely done before-but oh, everything's different now. "I'm just a chain," he murmurs, nibbling on Leo's earlobe even as he twists his fingers, searching for every good spot that makes his lover arch and moan. "Please what, _Master_? How am I supposed to know what you need if you don't tell me?"

Of course, if Leo doesn't tell him soon, he'll probably explode.

It's not _fair._

It's not fair when Elliot already pulls that card-god, he's more manipulative than people _think_-especially when the man _knows _what Leo wants. It's so obvious that Elliot _knows_ when that fourth finger slides inside, stretches him just _too_ much, leaves Leo shuddering and gasping for a full breath, his thighs quivering as he tries to spread his legs open further, tries to alleviate some of that strain, tries to writhe his way back onto those fingers _harder_ so that edge of too much is even heavier in his mind.

"Please, _please_ fuck me," Leo hears himself beg, voice hoarse, ragged, desperate. "Want you, want you in me, just-"

That's all he needs.

Elliot pulls his fingers free, easing Leo's thighs apart as far as they'll go, setting them wide apart on the floor as he grinds the length of his cock up and down the cleft of his ass. Leo is _perfect_ like this, never more beautiful than when he's a frantic sobbing mess, and it's with a hard, sucking kiss to the side of Leo's neck that Elliot guides the head of his cock to Leo's slick hole, coating himself with enough oil that he's dripping. "Should have been like this last time," he grunts, hands sliding back to Leo's hips, holding him in place. He wouldn't have felt so guilty about using Leo so hard if they'd had this, the oil and the time to prepare and the _patience_, though the last is a rapidly dwindling thing.

Elliot's never been good at the sappy, overused words, not even like this, so he lets the hard press of his hands talk for him, holding Leo in place as he presses deep inside with one smooth thrust, sheathing himself with a strangled, breathless groan of "Oh, _god_."

Leo _sobs_, sinks down into the floor, melting as Elliot's cock sinks inside of him, fills him, leaves him gasping for a full breath that he knows won't come. Every muscle twinges, tenses, wringing out another groan from his throat as he twists back against Elliot, his cheek pressed to the floor as his hands uselessly clench and claw, kneading as if he really is some cat in heat, rutting back against Elliot like little more than an animal.

It's so _much_. But it's hot, it's slick, and it's good, leaving Leo whimpering, humping back because it's not enough just for Elliot to be _in him_. "Good," he pants out. "G-good, it's good, so please-I-"

There are some requests, even from his master, that are just _unnecessary_.

Elliot buries his face in Leo's shoulder, hips snapping forward, little pants and grunts falling from his lips with every long, deep thrust into the smaller man. He grips Leo's hips tightly, dragging him back, using the hold to fuck him that much harder, that much _deeper_, and his world narrows to _that_, where he can see his cock disappearing into Leo, see every slow drag of his flesh, hard and aching even as he buries himself over and over again.

If he'd thought Leo was tight around his fingers, it's _nothing_ to this, almost agonizing with every wiggling motion, but it's the sharpest, most exquisite agony he's ever felt, and he mindlessly ruts down into Leo, feeling like nothing more than a snarling, groaning animal. "Show me," he growls, with an especially hard slap of his hips against Leo. "Show me how much you love this, _Master_."

A yelp pulls from Leo's throat, trailing into a mewl, then a breathy, heated groan as he buries his face into his arms. If his legs could splay open any further, god, he'd make it happen-all to leave him helplessly encouraging the way Elliot's fucking him, the way he acts like he _owns him._

There's nothing, _nothing_ about this that he could ever protest.

Each thrusts hits him so deep that Leo's eyes prick with tears, his body a shuddering, trembling thing around Elliot as his own cock throbs. He'd probably come at a touch, even of his own fingers, but Leo summons strength not for that, but instead to twist partially around, to nuzzle his face into Elliot's neck, panting hot against his throat, bruised lips closing against his pulse. "Just like that, fuck me-" Leo heaves out a ragged exhale, voice catching in his throat. "You like that? The way it feels-the way it _looks_, s-spreading your master open like this? I can… can barely take you now, you're so-"

Every word from Leo's lips is an electric, sinful pulse that shoots down to pool in Elliot's abdomen, driving him on to new levels of arousal, making his skin tingle, his pulse _sing_ as he groans, doing as Leo commands and just _fucking_ him.

His control falters, past the point of no return, and his thrusts become ragged, uneven, frantic as he curls his arms around Leo, yanking him flush against Elliot's chest, kissing him desperately as he murmurs, "I can't, Leo, I can't, I _can't_-please-"

Leo's too tight, too hot, too slick and quivering and _perfect_, and there's no way he can last.

Like this, it's even more intense, the angle pushing Elliot even deeper and leaving Leo's mouth to fall open, doing little but trying to _breathe_ as he's kissed, as he shudders and squirms in Elliot's hold. "It's fine," he rasps out, eyes squeezing shut as his body twitches, pulse jumping hard in his veins. "It's fine, j-just-inside me, fill me up, I want to feel it-"

There's the flicker of an urge to tell Leo that of course, he'll do whatever his master wishes, but damned if Elliot can even form words right now when there's no such thing as thought, only base animal instinct no matter _what_ he really is, sheathing himself to the root, shoving as deeply as he can possibly go as he holds Leo there, gasping, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he spills, pulsing hot and wet inside his lover, hands clinging to Leo's torso, every muscle twitching and spasming as he goes suddenly, bonelessly slack. "God..."

Leo bites his lip, shivering, trembling around Elliot as he snakes a hand down, wrapping it around his own cock and sagging into that touch with a broken, breathless sound. It doesn't take much-a few strokes of his palm over his already too-sensitive cock and he's spilling over his hand, hissing out a breath at how it almost _hurts_, being this stimulated, this spent, and still this full. "You were such a good boy," he breathlessly teases, voice rough around the edges still. "_Asking_ me if you could come."

Elliot shudders at the way Leo clenches around his cock, then deals a soft bite to Leo's shoulder, blowing on the skin to cool it as he slowly, gradually untangles himself. "You seem to like being my Master now," he points out, ragged and spent. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you wanted payback for all those years of cleaning my room."

Leo's hardpressed not to collapse right back to the floor, wincing and shivering still. "Or maybe," he archly replies, half-heartedly fumbling for at least a fragment of his nightclothes, "I just like how well _you_ respond to orders instead."

There's a knock on the door, and Leo freezes, briefly wondering if he's locked it-if that _matters_ because the only person obnoxious enough to knock on his door in the middle of the night also has keys and-

Judging by how fast the knob turns, it wasn't locked, and the keys are irrelevant.

"My lord? Forgive me, but these walls are rather thin, and I couldn't help but hear-" Vincent pauses within the doorway, brows arched high, eyes trained upon the scene in a rather shocked stare that Leo knows has _nothing_ to do with sex and everything to do with _Elliot._ Any other time, and Leo might relish that sort of expression on Vincent's face.

Elliot goes still. It's far from the first time Vincent's caught the two of them-he'd had something of an uncanny knack for doing that-but it's the first time he's caught Elliot alive when he shouldn't be.

Even if he isn't properly _alive_, it's got to be something of a shock, even for his oddball older brother.

Elliot's face flames, and he yanks his trousers back into place, stepping between Vincent and Leo-whether to protect his lover from embarrassment as he gets dressed, or out of that dull, nagging compulsion to protect Leo from _everything_. "Vincent," he says, trying not to look like he's just been caught with his pants completely off. There's the little niggling feeling in his mind that reminds him he hasn't asked why Vincent and Leo are here alone together-or at least, Leo hasn't seen fit to tell him. "I, uh...hi."

Vincent opens his mouth to respond, but Leo's faster, flushing hot as he yanks on his night shirt and scrambles to his feet, no matter how his knees wobble and threaten to buckle out from underneath him. There's some compensation to be found, at least, when he attaches himself to Elliot's arm. "He's a chain," Leo blurts out. "I-to replace Raven. The Abyss found what was left of him, and so I… this… it's Elliot," he lamely finishes. _Mostly._

The stare that Vincent still returns is a bit less shocked, a bit more bemused. "… The reaction seems accurate to Elliot, at least," is the older man's slow drawl. "But are you sure-"

"It's him!"

Vincent offers a placating shrug, even though his gaze still remains trained on Elliot, not quite as sharply analytical as Leo would expect. No, it's a bit softer, and if Leo thinks about it, there might be a sort of odd relief there. "It's been awhile," he says conversationally, as if covering up for his previous shellshock. "I see you two did not take long to become… reacquainted."

Any excitement Elliot felt upon seeing his older brother for the first time in years is quickly subsumed underneath a wave of torrential embarrassment. "I-look, you can't just go barging in to people's rooms like that!" he snaps, not meeting Vincent's penetrating, mismatched gaze. It feels all too familiar, caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar once again, even if it's by the person least likely to scold him.

He runs a hand back through his hair, securing it in the tie that seems to have come with the White Knight outfit, wherever Leo conjured that from. "And don't talk about me like I'm not here, would you? I'm standing _right here_."

Vincent, to his credit, only ends up looking amused. "Well. I suppose this means you won't be needing my _services_ any longer, my lord-"

"Get out!" Ah, god, his face is so hot that it _hurts_. Really, Leo assumed himself to be over this a good year ago-not blushing and flustering like some child again at the slightest tease from Vincent's tongue. "Next time, knock and _wait_ for me to say you can come in, don't just barge in like you own the place!"

If he squints enough in the dim light, he's rather sure he can see Vincent rolling his eyes skyward, even as he turns partially away. "Of course." His fingers drift along the edge of the doorframe, and he spares Elliot one last, lingering glance. "It is good to see you again, little brother."

"_Out._"

Vincent smiles, obnoxiously amicable, and the door shuts with a click, leaving Leo to groan and shove his sweaty hair away from his face, pulling away from Elliot with a scowl.

A nagging weight sinks into Elliot's stomach, confused and nervous at the same time, even such a short conversation enough to tell him that god, he's missed a _lot_.

He swallows hard, eyes resting on the doorway where Vincent had vanished, and searches for words. "My lord," he echoes quietly. "I guess...I guess there's probably a reason that my old servant is ordering my big brother around in Nightray Manor, isn't there?"

_My father is dead, isn't he?_

Leo tenses, squaring his jaw as he swallows down the initial urge to snap and tell Elliot to shut up and drop it for now. Elliot would have to listen, because he's a chain-Leo's chain-and that isn't _fair_ or right by any stretch of the imagination.

"I told you, I'm Glen." Leo slips closer to the bed, fingers fumbling with the hem of the bedspread for a moment. "Vincent… he's as much a Baskerville as I am. You can see his red eye as clearly as anyone, after all. So he's my servant, of course." Exhaling a slow breath, Leo glances back over his shoulder at the other man. "We're the only ones here right now. The rest of the Baskerville family is watching Pandora, and I… like being here alone, anyway."

_Yes, he's been dead for awhile._

Elliot doesn't turn, hands clenching into fists at his sides-useless fists, because he's useless, two years too late, and who knows what else he's missed?

He's not even sure he wants to know.

It doesn't matter, he tells himself, because he couldn't have gotten out of the Abyss any sooner, and he's here now. He's here, and he'll protect Leo however he can, make everything _right_ as much as he can, no matter what it costs him.

The little part of him that comes from the Will pulses, whispering in his ear, a constant little stream of knowledge that he does his best to ignore except when he _can't_. He's different, he knows. He'd been in the wrong level, somewhere special because he's _strange_, a contractor who had rejected his chain, who had voluntarily chosen the darkness, and maybe that's why he still feels like _himself_ instead of entirely like the White Knight.

He really, really intends to turn around and tell Leo it's fine, that he understands, but some scrap of what Vincent had said-Leo's reaction-catches in his mind, and when he speaks, it's to ask, "Are you fucking my brother?"

Leo chokes on his breath, the question taking him so sharply by surprise that he can't help but jerk his gaze away, face hot. "Why are you asking that?"

Elliot's face flames, not wanting to talk about it, not wanting to bring it up, honestly not wanting to _know_-but he's never been the kind of man who wanted to hide from the truth, even if it was easier. "Are you?" he demands, the urge to grab something and throw it rising even as Leo's will presses on him, and he _knows_ he couldn't throw so much as a washcloth at his master. "I-he's caught us before, and you've been nervous, but it's _me_ that gets embarrassed, you usually laugh once he's gone, and-" He cuts himself off, fists clenched so hard his fingernails are digging little crescents into his palms. "Just tell me. Or I'll ask him."

"_Don't_ ask him," Leo quickly says-too quickly, without a doubt, and he bites his lip after the fact, sucking in a sharp, anxious breath through his nose as he slowly turns around. "Look, it's… not what you're thinking, Elliot. I thought you were dead and _gone_, you know-"

"He's my _brother_!" The idea of anyone, _anyone_ touching Leo for any reason, makes a hot rope of anger coil in his belly, only the fact that Vincent _is_ his brother stopping him from taking his sword out and chasing the other man right this instant. "I..."

He cuts himself off, chest heaving, teeth gritted tightly together. He tries to remember that just because it feels like no time at all for him, it's been years for Leo, long lonely years with no one around, and Elliot _knows_ what a loner he's always been.

None of it makes him feel any less sick. "Do you love him? Does-does he love you?" God, he feels like a jealous woman.

"He wants me to _destroy_ him!"

Leo's voice cracks a bit as he says it, his lower lip trembling as he bites back the urge to grab something and throw it at Elliot's head. "You're an _idiot_-the world's biggest idiot, if you really think I could actually even _consider _someone else-_any_ one else-"

It's a pillow that he manages to toss first, and to hell with it for not being harder even as Leo slams it into Elliot's face as hard as he can manage. "And you're a moron if you don't realize about _Vincent_, either! T-the only reason I even wanted to-and I didn't, not really, I just… it made sense at the time-" He's not crying. All right, maybe he is, and he hates it, down to the way his eyes sting and his throat locks up. "Neither of us have-_h-had _anything left!"

Leo's words don't make sense, but the pain behind them does, real and raw in a way that's all the more startling given that Leo's always been so good at hiding it.

Elliot remembers, though he never wanted to, the sound of Leo's final, broken scream when he'd rejected Humpty Dumpty, before Vincent had come. He hears some of that same agony in his words now, and ignores the pillow, letting it hit him in the face before he simply grabs Leo by his upper arms, picking him up and holding him tight in front of his face. "I'm sorry." He doesn't say the words often. Probably he should say them more, really. "I...I have no idea what's going on with Vincent, I just-"

He's an idiot, and he knows it, face stinging with the shame of words he shouldn't have said to the person he loves. "I just don't know what's different. I never-the idea of-of you with someone-_anyone_ else, and for it to be with my _brother_, I just-"

"Stupid," Leo reiterates, chest heaving in a hard sob as his fists come to fall against Elliot's chest, tears streaking down his face as he _tries_ to glare up at him and knows he ends up looking more pathetic than anything. "You're stupid. He's not you, and it wasn't _about_ you. I-" A shudder makes him twist within Elliot's grasp, his eyes flickering to the side once more. "I don't want him to touch me again, now that you're here. He was just… someone I could hide behind. And I… wasn't much more to him."

Elliot crushes him close, sitting on the bed and hauling the younger man into his lap, against his chest. "You're the stupid one," he mutters, even though he knows that as usual, that's probably not true. It's always been easy to _get_ mad at Leo, but hard to _stay_ that way. And Leo had rarely broken down like this, back before everything went to hell. "And it's very irresponsible of you to be sleeping with your servant, you know. Abuse of power."

At that, Leo chokes on a wet, tired laugh, his face pressing into Elliot's neck as he simply sags into his hold. "Pot calling the kettle black," he mumbles, arms slowly coming to drape their way over Elliot's shoulders. "It wasn't about _sex_, Elliot."

"No?" That's probably the best news he's had in a while, and Elliot holds him close with one arm, the other hand coming up to card gently through his hair. "Oh. Good. I don't like to think about you sleeping with my brother. Bad enough that you let him see your eyes."

Thinking about it makes Leo flinch a bit, even as he nearly melts beneath the other man's touch. "He's the one that cut my hair."

Elliot thinks about reminding Leo that he'd never let _Elliot_ cut his hair, but there's really no reason to get upset, not when he's been dead and Leo's on his lap now, leaning into every gentle touch.

Everything tells him he should let it go-but he _has_ to know for sure, before he can drop it. "But...just so I know. He's your servant for some reason, and you're a-a _Baskerville_ of all things, fine. Just..." He doesn't want to know.

Perversely, he _needs_ to know.

"How long? Were the two of you..."

"Having sex?" Leo sighs tiredly, the conversation starting to give him a headache. "I don't remember. At some point after you… died." He shivers, sinking down further into Elliot's lap. "I'm not going to any more, if that's what you're worrying about. Vincent won't try anything, he understands."

"I'm not worried!" He is, a little. It's nothing he'd ever admit aloud, but the core of that jealousy is a sick, pulsing thing, even as he tightens his arms. He's not worried, though he can't help but wonder. He's heard enough girls at parties gabbling to their friends about the "walks" Vincent had taken them on in the gardens, even while picking rose petals out of their hair. It widens the gulf of experience between them a little farther, something Elliot's never brought up in the first place.

Well, it's not like there's anything to be afraid of any longer. "Forget it. You've always known more than me anyway."

"… You think he's better than you." The realization brings about a dull pang of amusement, even if Leo is equal parts annoyed at Elliot's insecurity. "Here's a hint: he's not. There's no competition. Besides, in his mind, he wasn't having sex with _me."_

"Well I don't know, do I?" Elliot demands crossly, looking away even though his arms don't relax in the slightest. "I never-I mean, I just heard all the girls talking, and-I mean, you know I hadn't-I didn't-that you were my-this is stupid, I don't want to think about this any more."

"You don't want to know who he's lusting after so much that he'd turn to his master for solace?" Elliot isn't _allowed_ to let this go, not after the veritable fit he threw.

Elliot makes a face. "I've heard plenty about the girls he _lusts_ over, thanks. I-it's weird that he-I mean, I'm not saying you're girly, it's probably just Vincent being weird, just-" He shakes his head. "Growing up here...I tried to ignore who my brothers were setting their sights on, you know?"

Leo's brows arch, no matter how he keeps his head on Elliot's shoulder, far from inclined to move. "Girls lust after Vincent, not the other way around." _Well, there's that one, but-we don't talk about that._ "Anyway, it's not a girl."

"Not the way he behaves himself," Elliot counters, though he doesn't know why he bothers. Leo's always been better at seeing to the heart of people than he has, even if he doesn't want to admit it. "I-a boy? You're just teasing me to get back at me."

"Maybe you're the one that should have been wearing glasses all that time," Leo sighs. "Think about who Vincent cares about the most, and it should be obvious."

The first person who comes to mind is Gil, but that's obviously wrong, so Elliot sets that aside. "Echo...no, you said it wasn't a girl. It-he doesn't even _like_ Break, but that's the only person I can-look, you know I don't like riddles!"

"… You know, Elliot," Leo drawls, giving Elliot a little shove to coax him further onto the bed, "some people are book smart, and other people are street or people smart. I'm just not sure what happened with you…"

Elliot scowls up at him, though he lets himself be pushed flat with little difficulty. "I just got saddled with a useless servant who stole all my books, that's all. Look, when I-died, Vincent didn't like anyone! You know, except Gil. So how should I know what happened since then?"

Leo tries not to roll his eyes-he really, honestly does, even as he props his head into his hands, elbows lightly resting upon Elliot's chest. "You're assuming something has changed."

Elliot's eyes narrow into a glare, and he mutters, "I miss being able to throw bookshelves at you when you're like this." He grabs one of Leo's hands, bringing it to his lips and kissing it lightly before dealing a soft bite to one of his fingers. "You're like a cat with a secret."

"You're just thinking too hard," is the sigh to follow, the words rumbling in Leo's throat rather like the purr of a cat he's accused of being. His fingers flex, hand twisting about as he drags a thumb over Elliot's lower lip. "You've already said the answer; you just don't want to believe it."

"You're doing a good job distracting me," Elliot points out, grinning as he flicks his tongue out, slightly grazing over Leo's thumb. "Okay, well, Break is weird, but so's Vincent, so I guess...I don't know why he'd go to you instead." His other hand creeps up Leo's back, drawing little patterns and circles with his fingertips through the soft cotton of the nightshirt.

"You really…" Leo snorts out a soft laugh, dragging his hand away with a wry expression. "It's not the Hatter, Elliot." A sigh of surrender follows. "It's _Gilbert._"

It takes a second for the words to permeate the easy, lazy way he feels. When they do, Elliot sits up so fast he nearly knocks Leo to the floor, only fast reflexes and the influence of his chain letting him catch the other man at the last second. "W-what are you saying? Don't joke like that. They're _brothers_."

Leo simply glowers at him, decidedly put out and ruffled at being jarred so abruptly. "And Vincent is in love with him. At least it isn't a brother and _sister_, that would be even worse, if you think about it."

"He's _not_! He's-they're my _brothers_, don't you think I'd know if there was something like that going on?" He can't deny that there's something extremely off about Vincent, always has been, but...but this is the man who taught him how to fish, who tried to teach him dirty tricks to use the next time he dueled Break.

"I mean, he falls asleep on Gil a lot, but-" Elliot bites his lip, suddenly remembering a couple times he'd seen Vincent almost _purposely_ fall asleep on top of the older man, wriggling down onto his chest, but-

"That's disgusting, though. I mean, I know you don't have brothers, so you probably don't understand, but...I mean, bad enough that it's two men," he ends lamely, hypocritically, even as he gathers Leo back onto his lap, mind too jumbled to make much sense.

"We've already established the color of the kettle, you know." And that joke probably goes over Elliot's head as well. Leo supposes he could be angrier, but really, he's heard it all before, and at this point, the most he can do is roll his eyes and let Elliot hold him as if he's one of those cats that he liked-_likes_ so much. "If you don't believe me, ask him about it. I'm sure he'll be happy to talk about Gilbert."

Elliot makes another face, but relaxes back onto the bed, scooping Leo onto his chest again. "Maybe...later. I uh, don't think I really want to talk to Vincent right now. I might punch him." He _really_ wants to see the look on Vincent's face when he meets it with his fist, far less for having creepy weird feelings and far more for daring to lay hands on Leo when he'd _known_ Leo was Elliot's, had always been Elliot's.

"You can punch him," Leo cheerfully announces, curling into a ball as he nestles his way against Elliot's chest. "I won't stop you. He's something of an idiot, really. I've often wondered if you two are actually related."

"You're an awfully mean master," Elliot complains. It doesn't stop him from running his hands over Leo, but it does make him deal out a little pinch to Leo's side. "I'm pretty sure I was nicer than you, and you don't even throw stuff."

"I'm no different than I was before," Leo complains, giving Elliot's hand a half-hearted swat. "You're just mad that I'm right about a bunch of things and _you_ can't pull the master card anymore…"

"It was cute before. Now you're just abusing your power. You could always have quit as my servant, but I'm your Chain. Now, can we stop talking about my brother? I'm going to think you really do want him instead of me." It's something of an empty threat, but there's a grain of hurt there nonetheless. "If that's all right with you, _Master_."

"I'm not _abusing_ anything." Leo's breath escapes as a huff against Elliot's neck. "… but we can stop talking about him if you stop suggesting I ever would have quit."

"You didn't want to be my servant in the first place," Elliot reminds him, fingers creeping around the hem of the nightshirt, hiking it up a little. "I had to bully you into it. I spent a couple months being afraid to throw things at you because I was afraid you'd quit. Well. Big things."

"When have you ever been able to bully me into something?" Leo's cheek rubs against Elliot's shoulder, his hands sliding up to toy with a strand of blond hair. "I went because I wanted to, I stayed because I wanted to."

"And now?" Elliot can't help but ask, looking down to meet those odd, beautiful eyes. "Will you let me stay? I have no idea what it means for you to be Glen, but I don't think I'm bound to you in the same way as a regular chain. Will you let me protect you?"

"If I didn't want that, I wouldn't have asked the Abyss for you," Leo murmurs, gaze lidded as he glances up to look at Elliot. "As far as I'm concerned, having you like this means you'll never go away again, and that's what I want."

That makes sense somehow, resonating with the part of Elliot that hasn't been with him since birth. The words sound like another contract, and he shivers. "Yes. I'll never leave you again."

He shivers a little, and then his mouth curves into a smile. "And if I do, don't bring me back another foot taller, okay? This is about as big as I think I want to be."

"No, you're perfect like this, I'm not changing you." Leo wriggles closer, as if to prove his point that Elliot is entirely satisfactory, especially as his pillow for the moment. "Now do your job, and keep me warm for the rest of the night."


	3. Chapter 3

Leo had asked him once where chains go, when they're not called. Elliot hadn't known, and had said as much. Now, even after _being_ a chain, he still has no idea.

He just _is_, with only the vaguest awareness of the real world, Leo's world, and it's mostly limited to Leo-a whiff of scent occasionally, or the blurry sight of those deep dark eyes, or a flicker of motion. That's fine, really. Time doesn't seem to bother him as it had before, and boredom isn't pressing.

That said, he's beyond relieved when he hears his name, that slightly awkward, "White Knight?" after Leo says his _real _name, and he draws his sword as he enters the world, just in case.

Then again, it doesn't look like Leo's in danger this time, either. Elliot swallows hard, sheathing his sword in a fluid motion from long years of practice rather than attention, because all his focus is on the man-the _vision_-splayed out on the bed.

Lace and silk and sturdy boning swath his master's figure, clinging to shapely thighs, cinching the already-slender waist, enough finery to make any lady of the noble houses jealous under her ballgown-and Leo certainly isn't wearing one of those.

For form's sake-and because it feels _right_-Elliot kneels, bowing his head, looking up again at those mysterious eyes. His throat is dry, the blood pounding in his ear, and his voice rasps and quavers as he asks, "Y-you called?"

It's a good thing indeed that Elliot's tastes haven't changed now that he is a chain.

Leo likes the reaction he gets, the way Elliot's mouth obviously goes dry, the way he can't keep his eyes off of Leo no matter how hard he tries. He has the mind to unfasten the latch of his cloak, heavy red velvet sliding away down his skin and into a puddle on the bed that he arranges himself upon. "It seems," he murmurs, a black-stockinged leg stretching out, off of the bed to gently tap his foot against Elliot's shoulder, "that I can't quite tighten my corset strings by myself."

There's really no need for shame, not when it means enjoying Elliot and the time he now has with him to the fullest.

Leo is _cheating_.

Elliot has half a mind to tell him that this isn't what chains are for, that he's supposed to be called when Leo needs to be _defended_, that this is another abuse of power-but after all, it's not like he wants Leo to stop. Instead, he just wraps a reverent hand around one ankle, drawing it up to his mouth to kiss, making his way up that smooth shin, brushing his lips across the soft, sensitive inside of one porcelain thigh. "As my lady commands," he breathes, hoping he'll be able to do as Leo's asking before he comes in his pants like he hasn't done since he was fourteen. "Care to turn over?"

"Not quite yet."

Leo's own breath hitches, a hand slipping down to curl beneath Elliot's chin, coaxing his head up. It's easy, far too easy, to surrender to the touch of the man's lips, ghosting over his flesh and obviously so worshipful, but this isn't the time for it-not yet. "You know, I got you a little something. Wouldn't you like to see what that is before you become otherwise… distracted?"

Elliot swallows hard. Part of him wants to just flip Leo over and shove him into the mattress, thrusting hard inside him until he squeals and pleads, but he masters that urge-barely. He finds himself nodding, leaning into Leo's touch, trying to keep his breath steady. "It's asking a little much of me not to be distracted when you look like this, though."

"Try," Leo coaxes on a purr, his fingers tickling beneath Elliot's chin before drawing back, reaching back into the puddle of his cloak. It's simple thing that he produces-white leather, supple beneath his fingertips, and as he dangles it before Elliot's face, it becomes very clear exactly what it is. "I need you to be quite obedient if you're going to wear this for me, you know."

Initially, Elliot balks.

They're odd words to hear in Leo's unchanged, cheerful little voice, no matter how he modulates it, and the _idea_ is something that his birthright, his pride, denies vehemently. Then again...

Leo _is_ his master, in body and soul, his sole reason for existing. And if there is any sort of chain that would bind him more tightly still, well, then Elliot wants to wear that too, no matter his pride.

His breath is still short when he takes the collar, hesitant as he asks, "Is seeing this on me going to please you half as much as seeing that on you does for me?"

"Yes."

There's no stopping the little shudder in his voice, the way Leo's tongue flicks out to wet his lips as he watches Elliot take the collar from him. "There's a leash, too," he murmurs, leaning back once more to retrieve it. "I want to be able to hold it, to yank on it when you're shoving me down and fucking me into this bed."

Elliot can't stop the flush in his cheeks as he threads the collar underneath his hair, fingers trembling a bit as he fastens it-not too tight, but not too loose either. Somehow it accents the beat of his pulse, making him all the more conscious of how fast his heart is going, embarrassed at how he must look, not to mention at Leo's lewd words. "As if you're going to be able to when I'm taking you that hard," he returns, eyes raking over Leo's recumbent form.

"Try me," Leo breathes, lurching forward to snap the leash in question into place, an experimental tug following. It's light enough only to coax Elliot forward, and Leo leaves the leash loosely wrapped about his wrist as he obligingly shifts to turn, no matter how he wants to keep watching Elliot-the way he blushes, the way his breath quickens. "Aren't you going to see to what I originally asked for now?"

Elliot's chest is tight with anticipation, his eyes alight as he's tugged forward, shucking his trousers before crawling on top of his master. He takes his time running his hands up Leo's thighs, snapping the tops of his stockings before squeezing the supple flesh of his ass. The candlelight glints of something shiny, and Elliot grins. He reaches for the corset strings-already plenty tight, from the little he knows about women's clothing-and hooks a few fingers around the knots, jerking them far tighter as he rests the head of his cock against that slick, prepared little hole. "You got so tight last time I did this," he murmurs, placing a soft kiss between Leo's shoulderblades.

It's _already_ too much.

Leo remembers the first time he found himself coaxed into a corset-embarrassed, anxious, so afraid that he'd be _found out_ and that he wouldn't be convincing enough as a _woman_. That was in public, though; this is the privacy of a bedroom, where he's instigating this sort of play himself and left gasping sharply for it, the breath squeezed from his lungs as Elliot yanks on his corset strings, constricting even further and leaving him outright dizzy.

"Tried to… make it easier, this time," Leo pants as he sinks down into the bed, pressing his head into his arms as his fingers twitch, grasp nearly white-knuckled about the leash already. He bites his lip, trying not to whimper at even the sensation of Elliot's cock pressing against his hole, but not sliding inside, not _yet._ Leo knows well how slick he's left his body, how empty he feels without his fingers buried inside of himself, because even that isn't enough when he's thinking of _Elliot_.

Elliot nods, no matter that Leo can't see him, and runs his hands up the sides of the corset, the shapely figure it creates feeling somehow new despite how well he's explored it many times before. "Nice and ready," he agrees. "It's a shame I missed watching that."

He can imagine it, Leo crouched on all fours, slick oil coating his fingers as he thrusts them in, maybe biting his lip at the stretch of it, and that image alone is enough to make Elliot pant, pressing forward-

Only to not quite make it in, to his chagrin. "Sorry," he mutters, grabbing the strings again for leverage this time. "If you don't relax, I'm going to have to really push. Do you have more oil?"

Leo groans, scrabbling over the bedsheets to fumble beneath a pillow, dragging out the bottle of oil he had been using not to long ago. "Trying," is his whine, nuzzling his cheek down into the bed as his hips rut back no matter how he _trembles_, his thighs quivering from tension, his back a sharp arc as he pants for a full breath. God, it almost feels good enough like this, with Elliot just rubbing against him, and Leo twists his hips, all to better rub his ass along the hard length of Elliot's cock.

Elliot can't catch his breath, hand sloppy as he slicks it, slicks himself, and with the way Leo's writhing, it almost doesn't _matter_. He grinds down, sliding his cock along the cleft of Leo's ass, dripping with oil and so hard it aches with every slide, and his hips snap forward, so slick that he rubs up between Leo's thighs instead.

God, that's almost as good, and for a moment Elliot forgets that he's ever intended anything else, rubbing up between Leo's legs, sliding along his cock and balls, feeling just how hard he is. "God," he groans, burying his face in Leo's neck.

The sensation is enough to make him gasp for breath anew, his chest heaving as he shifts, wriggles to close his thighs, to _encourage_ that slick, heated slide as he muffles a groan down into the mattress. Leo's own cock twitches, throbs as Elliot drags against him, and his fingers clench, the yank on Elliot's leash that follows near involuntary because he's so _eager. _"K-keep… doing that," he manages to pant out, eyes fluttering shut as he rocks back, trying his best to keep his thighs _tight_, because god, it feels sinfully good to have Elliot's cock sliding between them, hard and thick and pulsing against him.

Elliot hardly needs to be told, not with how good it feels, even-or especially-with the yank at the collar around his neck. He moves his hands down to Leo's thighs, pressing them hard together as he thrusts, every motion bringing him into contact with that sinful soft silk even as he makes it sticky and filthy, rutting between Leo's thighs like an animal.

It somehow feels dirtier like this, so frantic that he'd had no patience for a proper fuck, but Leo doesn't seem to mind with the way he's gasping and wiggling, and Elliot only has ears for those breathy little sounds as he curls one hand around, wrapping it around both their cocks. "God. You fit so perfectly in my hand," he mutters, squeezing, running his thumb over the slick leaking tip of Leo's cock.

Leo _mewls_, bucking down into Elliot's grasp, rutting his hips down into those perfect, talented fingers just as much as he does the hard, dripping line of Elliot's cock that drags against his own. It's obscenely good, even if he's not being fucked into the bed like he had originally planned-it's just as overstimulating for that matter, enough to leave him shivering, trembling, every muscle a tense thing and every sharp breath he tries to draw in making it that much more difficult to _think_-

He comes with a sob, surprising even himself with how soon, how _hard_ he spills, dripping over Elliot's hand with desperate, mindless wriggles and bucks of his hips, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as his chest heaves.

Elliot lets out a startled huff, feeling the splatter of hot liquid over his fingers, and he draws back, mouth drier than ever. One hand moves, sticky and insistent, to press at Leo's lips. The other drops to those same strings, as Elliot breathes, "I bet you're nice and relaxed now, hmm?"

That's all the warning he gives before he shoves inside, the thick blunt head popping in after a moment of resistance, and Elliot yanks hard on the strings, dragging Leo back onto his cock with all his strength.

It with a broken sob that Leo's body sags, his knees buckling and hands weakly clawing into the bed as he's helplessly held in place-not just by the hand tangled in his corset strings, but by the big, thick cock shoved deep inside of him. Each breath is a shaky, quick gasp, his lips parting mindlessly to suck at Elliot's fingers, moaning around them as his tongue messily swipes along the length of them, sucking them as eagerly as he would the other man's cock.

God, _god_ it's too much. Everything is too tense, too hot, and Leo's mind blurs, hazy, desperate little squeaks and whimpers tearing from his throat with each shove of Elliot's cock inside of him, filling up until he can't _take_ anymore.

It's simply too _much_.

Elliot's fingers curl against Leo's tongue, dragging along that sweet wetness as he slides inside, each movement a tense, exquisite thing with how ridiculously tight Leo is like this, shuddering and writhing and breathless like he is. Elliot twists the corset strings around his hand for better leverage, using them as reins as much as a leash, yanking Leo back with every near-brutal thrust inside him.

He looks down, and swears under his breath at the positively _obscene _sight of Leo's ass, stretched wide around the thickness of his cock, his legs forced wider apart by the girth of it, and Elliot's breath comes in shuddering pants at the sight.

Leo can only twist and squirm, moaning against Elliot's fingers as he's caught between the pull of his hands, the pull of those strings, the way Elliot's cock stuffs him so full, so perfectly, achingly full that even if he didn't have that corset wrenching the breath out of him, he wouldn't be able to breathe. His vision blurs and Leo sobs, trying desperately to wriggle back, to feel even _more_ of Elliot, no matter how he already twitches and spasms around him, muscles drawn so tight that it _hurts_, no matter how slick and perfect it all is.

"P-_please_-" His toes curl, and Leo involuntarily arches back when Elliot shoves in deep, leaving Leo to gasp and pant and sloppily drag his lips along Elliot's fingers, tongue flicking out with each ragged breath. "I-" _Don't even know what I want, just fuck me, please, please, please-_

There's nothing Elliot's ever wanted more than to fill that plea.

The way Leo clenches down on him is maddening, and not without the knife's-edge between pleasure and pain. It's too much, and he doesn't feel like a person able to make _decisions_ any longer, just a base animal of carnal desire and primal urge, mouth fastening over the flutter of Leo's pulse in his neck, careless of whether it'll show a bruise in the morning. His world narrows to the place where they're joined, to every tiny bit of the slick drag and pull of his cock in and out of his master, unable to help himself from getting a bit too rough, pulling too hard, biting too deep when the world explodes behind his eyes, leaving him buried deep inside Leo as he comes with a ragged, desperate noise.

God, his body _wants_, so badly, to come a second time, to rut down into the bed until he's entirely sated, entirely useless and spent beneath Elliot. Instead, though, Leo can only tremble, focus on breathing, every inch of him sweat-soaked and aching, his face burying its way into the sheets as he groans, a mindless little wriggle of his hips backwards making him bite his lip, reminding him of how deep Elliot still is inside of him, how he's filled with the man's come and will be for hours yet.

His fingers uselessly twitch around the leash still wound up within his hold, and he thinks, belatedly, to ask for one favor. "Loosen it… j-just a bit," Leo rasps out, shifting a little, as much as he _can_ so Elliot will hopefully realize he's talking about that corset, cinched so tightly that Leo knows his ribs will be bruised.

It takes a second for the blood to recede enough from Elliot's head for words to penetrate, and when he moves it's with a core of stiffness, an aching sore thing from the intensity of the orgasm that shuddered its way through his body. He hauls himself up onto his knees, groaning under his breath, enough to tug on the right strings, guiding sturdy thread through the grommets, giving Leo's ribs room to expand again. "Sorry," he mumbles, almost incoherently. "I...sorry, you just looked so-did I hurt you?"

Leo's next breath is deep, gratefully so, even though he makes no attempt to lift his head or to otherwise rise. "No," he lies-not that he cares either way-and twists his head just enough to look over his shoulder. "'m fine. That was…" His skin heats, no matter how he tries to stop it otherwise. "The way you feel when you're just-rubbing against me like that…"

Elliot grins, reaching back to scratch his neck where the hair has stuck to the back with sweat. "I, uh, didn't think you'd like it. You know, it just seems like something that would be good for me, but probably not do too much for you. I guess I know different now, huh?"

That sort of reasoning is really sort of cute. "… By that logic… do you have any idea how much I like it when you're in my _mouth?_"

That question, out of the blue, is enough to startle Elliot, enough to make him pull back, disentangling them as his face burns bright red. "I-well, yeah, but-oh." He clears his throat, wondering why anything Leo says surprises him anymore. If he can summon Elliot wearing a getup like _this_, he can certainly say such lewd things with a straight face, after all. "I...I always thought you just liked...you know, making me happy."

"Well," Leo breathes, hissing as he stretches out, limbs still periodically trembling from residual stimulation, "yes. But _I_ also like it. Otherwise, I wouldn't do it." He flops facedown onto the bed with a little shudder. "I'm not getting up…"

Elliot laughs, a bit startled at how _cute_ Leo is all of a sudden. As much as he loves the way Leo seems confident, powerful, and of course is a couple years older-this, this floppy ball of contented, wriggling _Leo_ is what he's missed. He lies down next to the other man, draping a strong arm over his back, playing with his hair. "I missed your bright smile."

"Sappy and romantic while I'm drenched in sweat and still in women's clothing," Leo mildly retorts, even as he sighs and settles down comfortably, eyes lidding in pleasure at that soft, subtle touch to his hair. Only Elliot-_just_ Elliot can manage that and make him content and not annoyed. "I just missed _you._"

"The clothes were your idea," Elliot points out, burrowing that much closer, brushing a kiss across one bare shoulder. "I hope you didn't miss me _too_ much. You know...before I died...I mean, I would have wanted you to be happy. I still do."

Leo decides not to mention exactly how much he _did_ miss Elliot, how many times he had broken down and asked Vincent to kill him, how many times he had simply curled up in bed at night, unable to start crying and unable to sleep all the same.

"… There's no one that could ever replace you, you know," he settles for instead, resting his head atop his arms, letting his eyes slide shut entirely.

"Well, I never said _that_," Elliot mutters, then hooks a finger in the corset strings, tugging gently. As cute as Leo is like this, as much as Elliot wants nothing more than to watch him relax into sleep, he can't, not quite. "You can't fall asleep in that. It'll crush your liver. Vanessa told me."

"_What?_" Leo's eyes crack open again at that, unable to stop a short laugh. "What does my liver have to do with this? You just want to see me naked."

"You have to get a sleeping corset," Elliot insists, using fingernails and teeth as he goes to work on the tightly-knotted strings. "This kind has stiffer boning, and the...the liver things won't get to your liver properly and you'll hurt yourself. It...something like that." He can't quite repress a grin. "If you don't want to be naked, you can always leave the stockings on. I'm sure your liver won't mind that."

"Pervert," Leo blithely accuses, settling back down for the moment to allow Elliot to work. If he wants the corset off, he wants it off; there's no denying it would be much more comfortable without it, anyway. "And you used to say _I_ was bad. If I leave them on, I bet I'll wake up to you being rather inappropriate."

"You _are_ bad," Elliot points out, deftly unlacing the strings. It's the sort of thing one learns growing up in a noble house, especially with an elder sister who hadn't trusted her other brothers to help her out of the things. "You're the one who put this stuff on before summoning me. And you used to read me those stories, too!"

A thought strikes him, and he eyeballs the bookshelves. "It makes me wonder if you've been reading them to keep you company while I was dead."

Leo's mouth twists at that, and he squirms to push himself up right, heaving out a short breath as he feels the corset fully loosen from his body. His ribs _do_ hurt-he can only imagine how it would have felt to actually sleep in the thing. Not comfortable. "I haven't exactly had time to read lately."

"Right, right," Elliot says vaguely, folding the corset lengthwise and setting it away on the bed. "Busy being a Baskerville, of all things. Please tell me you at least spent some time working on your aim with a gun. I hate to think about you going into danger with only the skills you _used_ to have." His mouth twists sourly. "I'm sure Vincent could give you _lots_ of lessons."

"… It isn't exactly necessary, all things considered," Leo drawls, all sorts of amused that Elliot worries about his _aim_ when he has already done a dozen things that Elliot probably thinks him entirely incapable of. Slowly, he rolls onto his side, staring up at Elliot with a slow, sleepy blink. "You're not the only chain I have, you know."

Elliot flinches at that, flopping down onto his back on the bed, letting out a little huff. "Don't remind me. Whatever that thing is? With the eyes? And the wings?" He shakes his head slowly, a frown creasing his brow at how much _fun_ it is to be "the new guy." "I just can't see someone like you having a chain like that."

"It isn't just mine, it's Glen's," he points out on a murmur, stretching with an easy sigh. God, he hurts, but pleasantly so-down to his bones and all through his muscles. With a wriggle, Leo sinks himself deeper into the bed, peering up at Elliot. "His name is Jabberwock, by the way. Make sure you play nice."

"I thought _you_ were-oh, never mind," Elliot grumbles, raking a hand back through his hair. He softens at the look in those sleepy, swirling eyes, and instead of demanding explanations, asks, "Is Holy Knight finished yet? I meant to ask last time but...well, you're distracting."

"Dunno." Leo stretches out a leg, absently flexing his toes before gently poking at Elliot's ankle. "I didn't want to read it, once you were gone."

Elliot reaches out and flicks Leo in the arm, somewhere on the verge of playful and annoyed. "You're an idiot. Now how am I supposed to know what's happened? You...you weren't supposed to just stop living." The weight of guilt settles over him, heavy across his shoulders. Even with everything he'd done, tried to do, he'd still let that damned Humpty Dumpty ruin everything. Not just his family, but Leo, too. "I...I'm sorry."

A sort of vague, weary irritation flickers over Leo's face. "Don't apologize. _You_ didn't do anything wrong. I… was the one that did everything, after all. It was my fault you were caught up in any of this in the first place-" His lips twist into a sardonic smile. "And now I've dragged you back into it. Sorry in advance, but everything's awful here."

Elliot shrugs. "Better here and able to do something than back in the Abyss. You know I hate being useless."

Even if that's what he's been. Even if there hasn't been a single person he could save, even by giving his life. The silence of Nightray Manor is oppressive, taunting him with its emptiness. "I don't know how you can stand to stay here," he says quietly. "All I can think about is how they're all dead."

"The only person I cared about was dead for two years," Leo dully reminds him. "Everything else is sort of…"

_Less than, not even close to being important-_

Leo sighs a bit, shaking off the urge to depress himself just thinking about it all. "This place is better than most, but if you really want me to leave, we could go to Pandora."

"I..." Elliot buries his head in Leo's shoulder, nuzzling to make up for the fact that he really, honestly doesn't know what to say. "I want to be wherever I can protect you. And at least here there's only Vincent to worry about instead of..."

He trails off, caught in that old web of wanting to know who's left, being terrified to know who's gone.

A wry smile tugs at Leo's lips, and he lifts a hand, absently dragging his fingers through Elliot's hair. "Truth be told, there's not much left to protect me from-not when the main problem is sitting in a dungeon in Pandora. This place, at least, is quiet and easier to deal with than most, so…"

It feels good to be petted, and Elliot closes his eyes, relaxing into the touch. "I never thought you'd let me touch you."

The words come to his lips seemingly of their own volition, maybe because there's nothing to be afraid of any longer, nothing to be ashamed of. "When I met you. You were so...prickly. And I don't just mean your hair." Nightray Manor feels a bit like the House of Fianna now, empty except for those who might as well be ghosts.

"… You were an obnoxious, bratty noble kid," Leo dryly points out, his fingers slowly slipping down to thumb the collar still wrapped about Elliot's neck. "Still kind of are; I've just learned to find it cute in some ways."

"I'm not a child anymore." He hadn't thought he was a child _then_, but time has showed him just how wrong he was. "And you'd better like it," he mutters, letting his head fall back, exposing his throat. "I don't think I'm ever going to change, even if you want me to."

_Not like you changed._

"Good. Don't." If nothing else, Elliot is the one thing that is _static_, even after these two years, even after being _without him_ for all that time. Leo swallows, throat suddenly tight, and he drags his fingers away, hand slipping further down to rest against Elliot's chest. It's more distressing than it should be that he had-apparently-thought to have this _chain_ mimic a heartbeat, no matter how Leo knows it's not real, and that Elliot still is quite dead, no matter his form. "I won't let anyone hurt _you_ again, Elliot."

"You never did."

Elliot closes his eyes, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Leo's, one hand coming to rest on his chest as well, feeling that steady thump that lets him know that at least one of them is really, truly alive. "I never said it because I didn't think it needed saying, but...I never blamed you. For Humpty Dumpty."

Even the name is enough to make Leo tense and flinch, no matter how time has passed. "You should," he mumbles. "You should, because if you hadn't been there-protecting me, and trying to help those other kids-"

"What, you think it would have been better if I left those kids to die?" Elliot's hand presses harder against Leo's chest, as if he could hold him there, just like this. "I...I couldn't. I know-I know they died anyway, and I know how it turned out, but..." It's hard to say, but it needs to be done. "Look, I'm just not that kind of person. Even knowing how it went, I'd probably do the same thing all over again."

"… You're an idiot," Leo rather helplessly settles upon, shaking his head as he scoots that much closer to Elliot, wrapping his fingers about Elliot's hand to keep it close. "A really big one. You're not _allowed_ to disappear again, all right?"

"All right," Elliot agrees easily, but he doesn't put much conviction behind it. What's happened once can happen again, after all. And Leo's always been able to tell when he's lying.


	4. Chapter 4

"Master."

It feels wrong, the word on Gilbert's lips for this man. Even though Duke Baskerville is, perhaps has always been his master in some way, it still feels wrong. It's the kind of thing he only lets himself think about at night, steeling himself to remain in bed, to not run down and use Raven to smash the doors to the basement, clawing his _true_ Master out of his bonds with his bare hands.

He won't make that mistake again.

Every step is familiar, every breath the same slow ache as before, when he'd waited ten long years for Oz's return. This, Duke Baskerville has promised, is no different. Just as before: all he has to do is wait, be faithful, and become the kind of man that can save his master from his torment.

It's with that sole thought in his mind that he kneels at Duke Baskerville's feet, head bowed. His voice is dull as he reports, "I have news, Master."

Leo barely even looks up.

Far more attention-grabbing at the moment is the steam rising from his tea, some foreign rooibos fragrant enough to make him breath in deeply before each heavily sugared sip. It's a pleasant day for once, even around this particular manor; storm clouds aren't brewing, the roses bloom brightly, and so why _not_ enjoy a cup of tea in the garden?

Vincent lingers at his side, ever watchful, though Leo _knows_ his attention is far more focused upon Gilbert at this point. It's always the same, every single time that Gilbert slips from his post to report some tidbit to him-and because such a thing is so rare nowadays, Vincent looks like a man starved.

"News?" Leo pokes at a slowly dissolving sugar cube with his spoon. _Look, Elliot, your other brother is here. It's almost like a family reunion. _"Of what sort?"

It's better not to use her name.

Then she won't feel like a person, like someone he's known for more than a decade, someone who used to tug on his coat sleeve and tag after him and Oz in the gardens and cry on his shoulder when Oz was gone and give him his hat and-

"The...girl." Yes, better not to use her name. "The Vessalius girl. We found where her uncle has hidden her."

Best not to use his name either. Then he won't feel like he's betraying the closest thing to a father he's ever known. They're not his _real_ family, after all. No, his _real_ family is standing just slightly behind Duke Baskerville, and even without looking up Gil can feel the intensity of his stare.

"Pandora is making preparations. They'll move by tomorrow evening."

Leo decides to ignore the quiet, strangled sound that escapes Vincent's throat, especially when the blond does his best to obscure it with a polite cough. Really, Vincent should be a bit happier about one of his goals coming to fruition… or that is what Leo can only assume Vincent is telling himself. "Oh? But Pandora will simply scare her off again, that really won't do."

"That's why I came to you." Gil raises his head, ignoring Vincent, staring straight at Glen Baskerville's soul. "If...if she's the key you think she is..."

He swallows hard, then pulls out a carefully folded sheet of paper, laying it on the little lawn table. "I know a man who used to work security on the building where they're keeping her. We could move tonight."

At best, Gilbert Nightray-Baskerville-_whatever_-gets on Leo's nerves.

It's in the same way that Vincent does, actually. That obsessive, neurotic tendency to latch onto one thing and never change… well, it's something that Leo pointedly refuses to adhere to. He _dealt_ with the loss of Elliot, after all, for better or for worse. Gilbert and Vincent, on the other hand…

"Sit, and let Vincent pour you a cup of tea," Leo sighs, making an idle gesture towards the chair opposite him. "There's someone I'd like you to meet. I think he would be quite useful in this situation."

There's nothing about this that doesn't feel _wrong_.

Still, Gil hauls himself up, sitting in the chair, trying to ignore how uncomfortable it is to have his little brother waiting on him like he's nobility. Then again, it's one of the least uncomfortable things Vincent's ever done for him, even though it sort of makes his skin crawl to have Vincent acting like his servant.

"If you don't mind, I'd rather not." Gil takes a sip of the tea, avoiding Vincent's eyes. "We've agreed that the less I know about your movements, the better, just in case Pandora ever learns the extent of my involvement."

"Really, I think you'll enjoy this." _Probably not_, Leo adds dryly to himself as he drops his chin into one hand. For Vincent's sake, he ignores how the man scoots just a bit closer to Gilbert, veritably hovering. "It's a family matter, after all."

Leo shifts, a hand outstretched to the side with a little crook of his finger. "White Knight."

_Family matter?_

Though he doesn't really want to after all that's passed between them, Gil shoots a look at Vincent, wondering what he could be planning-

Elliot rises from the ether, hand on his sword at his Master's call, nearly drawing when he sees that Leo isn't alone. He stops just in time, breath catching in shock as he sees exactly who Leo is having tea with.

A hundred thoughts flit through his head-he'd thought Gil was _dead_, thought _everyone_ was dead, and that leads to a thousand more questions-but before he has a chance to voice any of them, Gil's teacup goes flying through the air as he, his back, and the wicker chair all hit the floor in a heap. "You-you can't-you're _dead_, you can't-"

Elliot wants to snap that of _course_ he's not dead, but stops himself. He is, after all. Instead, he shrugs, shooting a glare at Vincent and Leo for obviously not warning Gil. "I am. I'm just...here to protect Leo."

"Brother, you _really_ should be more careful-" Vincent immediately stresses, darting to gingerly grab hold of Gilbert's arm, to coax him up and to his feet once more. "It's just Elliot, after all."

"The White Knight is his name as a chain," Leo mildly offers, unable to even be amused as he thought he'd be at Gilbert's reaction. With a sigh, he turns back to his tea, swirling the cooling liquid about in his cup. "Elliot, would you like to see Miss Ada again?"

A chain.

Probably the worst, most shocking thing of all, thudding dully through Gil's mind as he lets VIncent help him up, too stunned even to bat his hands away, is how Leo's acting as if this is perfectly normal. As if Elliot is _himself_, instead of some trick that he's conjured up out of madness and loneliness-not that he can really blame him for that. He knows the pain of losing his own master, twice over.

The young man standing proud and tall and _older_, as if he's got all the strength and virility of the man he should be at this age, tears at Gil's heart. It's his brother as he's supposed to be-and yet, with a glass sword around his waist, with a deferential nod of his head to Duke Baskerville, he isn't, at all. "Elliot..."

Elliot ignores Gil and Vincent, being weird as usual. It's even stranger when he remembers Leo's words, about Vincent's _fixation_ with their elder brother. Instead, he brightens at his master's words. "She's all right? Is she here?"

_He doesn't know_, Gil realizes, and only just keeps from saying something.

Ah, in the back of his mind, Leo sort of hates himself for this.

And yet his smile isn't forced at all as he looks up at Elliot, fingers laced primly about his teacup. "Well, not _here_ here, exactly. There's been quite a bit of discord, and she went into hiding. You can't blame her, of course. It would be good, though, if we could pay a visit to her… to insure her safety."

He's gotten a little too good at this lying business.

So good that Vincent looks at him with a startling, sharp look of contempt, for all of a moment because he _knows_ Leo wants to do anything but take care of the girl. Well. That isn't exactly true-he'll take care of her well enough, assuming she provides a necessary service. After all that has happened, Leo supposes he shouldn't be surprised at how _good_ he is when it comes to lying to Elliot in particular.

The thought makes him shudder, just slightly.

For the moment, Elliot's too grateful for a bit of good news after all this time to think too hard about what it might mean. "Yeah, that would be...I mean, I wouldn't mind seeing her again. She's never been too good at taking care of herself, you know?" He grins, reaching over to tug on a strand of Leo's hair. "Remember that time at school she got herself locked in the bathroom on opening night of the play?"

Somehow, Gil's never realized just how far Leo's fallen until this moment. He realizes, standing with Vincent, that he'd believed that if Leo found some measure of peace, found Elliot again, he'd be, well, _better_.

He doesn't seem better.

Leo's smile wavers a bit, but he catches the expression and allows it to simply soften instead. "Mm. I remember, Elliot." He lifts one hand, absently brushing his fingertips along the back of Elliot's hand. "I know she'd be especially happy to see you, no matter the circumstances."

Elliot wavers, a little embarrassed in front of his brothers, but allows the touch. It's not exactly compromising, after all, and...well, Gil might not know, but Vincent obviously does. "When can we go see her?"

Gil shifts, just slightly, enough to make eye contact with Vincent for the first time in months. He's often thought it's frightening, how easily his little brother can read him; now, he hopes for it. _Does this bother you too?_

"As soon as we have it planned out, of course," Leo cheerfully replies, casting a sidelong glance in the direction of the two brothers opposite him. "I believe you mentioned as early as tonight as an option?"

"… We will do our best to arrange it, my lord," Vincent allows, gaze flickering away from Leo to gratefully focus upon Gilbert, even if it's for a moment. His lips twist, just slightly, into a sort of weary smile. _Even if it does, what am I to do about it?_

Just for a second, it's good to have a brother, someone who knows him so well, someone who knows even his unvoiced thoughts. Just for a second, as dangerous as it is, Gil lets himself feel a tiny bit less lonely. "Yes, tonight," he says, eyes darting back to the map on the table. "They're trusting to secrecy, and there's only one guard on the Eastern door."

"Wait," Elliot interjects, frowning at the map. "If she's being hidden, won't we risk endangering her by going there? What if someone follows us?"

Gil bites his tongue so hard he draws blood, wishing he dared glare at Duke Baskerville.

"Hardly," Leo huffs, gaze lidded as he casts it away from Elliot for a sparse moment-first to the map, then to Gilbert. "They wouldn't dare. And even if they did… I'm sure you're fully capable of protecting her as well as me, Elliot."

"If you would allow us the afternoon to make the arrangements, my lord-"

"As long as they are done so quickly."

Vincent is glad that he, at least, is so _used_ to Leo's mercurial moods and penchant for snippiness that he doesn't even feel the urge to roll his eyes or bite his tongue. "Of course. Gil, shall we?" _At least let me put some distance between the two of you before you do something stupid._

It hurts to watch his little brother swell with pride at being told he's capable by someone who Gil can _see_ only wants to use him, use him for what he's become, no matter what he'd been at the beginning.

He doesn't even protest, bowing before picking up the map, letting Vincent hurry him away. "What is he?" he demands, trying to keep his voice low, not able to keep the fury out of it. "I've seen a _lot_ of chains, and I've never seen even a Glen Baskerville with one that questions his master's plans, so what _is he_?"

"As much Elliot as he still can be, I suppose," Vincent murmurs, sparing a lingering glance over his shoulder before striding quickly away and back towards the manor. "Our master won't tell me much, but-from what I can infer, it seems his desire for Elliot's presence, coupled with the need for an accessory chain for protection created… that." He offers Gilbert a shrug and a small smile. "Duke Baskerville has, at least, been much more pleasant to deal with lately."

Gil stops walking, grabbing Vincent's shoulder tightly, trying to find some trace of the horror in his own expression in his brother's face. "What if it _is_ him? What if it's...what's left of him, summoned by Baskerville's power and shaped into a chain? He deserves _better_ than that!"

"… That _is_ probably what he is," Vincent slowly replies, eyes sliding as he casts a glance down at Gilbert's hand and then back up to the other man's face. "They both seem happy. I'm not sure what is _better_ than that for either of them at this point."

With the gritting of his teeth, Gil forces himself to relax. Slowly, he releases Vincent's shoulder, letting his hand hang at his side, shoulders drooping. "Sorry," he mutters, fumbling in his pocket for a cigarette. "It was a shock. I wasn't expecting...you didn't tell me."

Vincent smiles, a dismissive shrug following. "You don't need to apologize, Gil. I didn't have the opportunity to warn you, after all; you've been very difficult to get in touch with as of late." His hands fold behind his back as he leans forward. "At least you've learned not to smoke around our master, but you really should stop for your own health at some point."

Gil snorts at that, a puff of smoke escaping his nose. "My health is about the last thing I'm worried about. This...I didn't plan for this tonight. I was just going to take care of the guard and go in and get her. I'm not sure how he wants to incorporate using the White Knight, or whatever he's calling Elliot."

He pointedly ignores the comment about being hard to reach. Vincent knows perfectly well why that is, and why it isn't going to change.

Ah, things Vincent doesn't want to talk about. His smile turns a bit terse. "You know very well that she'll put up far more of a fight if it's _you_ that retrieves her. Really, you should consider this merciful on our master's behalf."

Gil shrugs. "If he wanted to be merciful, he'd have you go get her. Say a couple pretty words, tell her she smells nice or whatever it is you tell girls to make them follow you around like puppies. Having Elliot go is just cruel."

"I don't want to talk to her."

The words come out sharper than he intends, and so Vincent pointedly continues forward. "If nothing else, this will help Elliot realize what he's come back into. Let our master deal with this as he sees fit, it has nothing to do with us."

"And you're fine with that," Gil says quietly, then shoves his hands in his pockets, staring down at the ground as he trudges alongside Vincent. "I don't even know why I bothered to ask, of course you are."

_This is half of why I never come here._

Vincent should bite his tongue.

He really, truly should.

And yet-"If it truly bothers you, then go ahead and say something to him about it." Vincent's gaze casts sideways and away. "Never mind the consequences."

Gil flicks his cigarette down on the ground, crushing it out with his foot, and turns up the collar of his coat. He should. For the sake of his little brother's soul, he should say something.

Deep underground right now, his master waits, desperate for someone powerful enough to save him.

"I made my choice a long time ago," he mutters, buttoning his coat up to the top. "We'll move at eleven. Send that chain in to get her out, back by midnight. Should be easy. If you can use Dormouse on the guard, that would make less mess. If not..."

Vincent has the mind, at least, to be annoyed with himself for tossing away the chance to be a bit more-well-congenial. He inclines his head in agreement all the same, and he lifts a hand, wavering for a moment before touching gloved fingers lightly to Gilbert's back, just between his shoulderblades.

"You won't stay, not even for an hour? I've the coffee you like still; I know tea doesn't suit you."

Why he does this to himself when in the end it will be nothing, never have been anything, is really beyond him.

God, Gil hates himself for wanting to say yes. It's been a shock, seeing Elliot's face on top of steeling himself for what they're going to do tonight, and even the unease Vincent's lingering touches bring him feels preferable to the cold waiting for him everywhere else.

His fingers clench in his pockets, voice bitter as he says, "What's the point? If you get your way, it'll never have happened, right?"

"I'm inclined to believe that if my master is allowed to indulge now, then so am I." Vincent's fingers curl, just slightly, fisting a bit into Gilbert's coat to give it a light tug. "Besides, that'll be some time yet. In the mean time, I'm still allowed to miss you."

Vincent has the devil's own tongue, has always been able to talk himself out of any situation, and no one has the mind to see it. Gil's different. He can _see_ the webs Vincent spins, the gambits, the lies.

And it's a rare day when he doesn't let them work anyway.

"One cup of coffee," he allows, sighing, wishing he hadn't put out his cigarette. "If you come tonight. It'll go easier if you're there."

"If Gil wants me to come, then of course I'll come."

Vincent's mind sort of reflexively goes to double entendres, regardless of his intention _not to_ at first, and it's with a hum that he lurches forward, dropping his chin atop Gilbert's shoulder from behind. "Would you like to take it in my private chambers? The coffee, that is."

Damn it, he never should have agreed.

Still, he's already said it, and it's with a token protest that he wriggles away, snapping, "Why the hell do you have coffee in your room, anyway?"

Vincent beams immediately. "For you, of course!"

For his own sanity, Gil should have stopped being surprised by any of the crazy shit that Vincent does a long time ago.

Still...

How much can it _really_ hurt, to drink a cup of the coffee he so rarely gets to taste, to talk to someone for just a bit that isn't only interested in how they can exploit his weaknesses? Vincent is just as calculating, to be sure, and at _least_ as cruel, but it's a different kind. Maybe a change will be as good as a rest, and give him the strength he needs to fight another day.

Besides, he's family. It doesn't matter how many chances he messes up. Gil's pretty sure you _have_ to keep giving chances, if it's family. "Do you mind if I smoke in your room?"

"Not at all." If anything, Vincent wants him to. The smell of smoke has long since faded from the drapes and carpet and bedspread, and there's nothing of _Gil_ left there. It's all mustiness and shredded curtains and cool, honed metal slicing through them, and Vincent wants that to change. "Come then," he rather brightly offers, stepping ahead to open the manor doors and lead Gilbert properly inside.

He supposes he should feel guilty, lingering about with his brother, serving him coffee in the solace of his own bedroom while his master is out alone on the lawn, but-that's what Leo wants, apparently, considering how quick he was to shoo the two of them away. Vincent breathes deep, perches himself upon one comfortable chaise, and enjoys the scent of cigarettes and coffee in his room for the first time in _ages_.

"It smells like your apartment in Larouille used to," Vincent wistfully notes.

"Huh. I guess it does." Gil hasn't been back to Nightray Manor much since it stopped being _home_, started being full of only things he hadn't wanted to remember. Every place turns out like that, after a while. Sablier, the Vessalius place, this place, and probably Pandora, when he eventually leaves there.

He shies away from that thought, unwilling to let himself even _think_ about what it's going to be like when this whole thing is _over_. Instead, he takes a sip of coffee, eyes sliding shut in enjoyment. "For someone who's always falling asleep," he notes wryly, "you make one hell of a cup of coffee."

"I learned for you, of course," Vincent returns, fairly beaming at the praise. The urge to snuggle himself up against Gilbert's side is strong, but the desire to simply have him here is even stronger, and so Vincent waits-fidgeting, eyes forever trained upon the other man. "I have a couple of your favorite blends. I kept them, just in case."

The coffee is delicious, the room feels just a little like home, and Gil gives in to temptation, just for a minute, resting his head against the back of the couch, relaxing a bit. This Vincent-creepy, clingy, eager to please and needy-he can deal with, as uncomfortable as it makes him. It's just when it looks like he's stopped feeling anything at all that Gil wants to run away and hide. "Are you going to have one? Shame to drink it all alone."

He refrains from offering a cigarette as well. No matter how messed up things get, Vincent is still his little brother. There are some habits he just shouldn't encourage.

Vincent takes the chance to wriggle just a bit closer-only enough to lean his head against Gilbert's shoulder, to breathe in slowly the other man's scent. "I'll just have a sip of yours if I want it," he murmurs, a hand sidling over to rest atop Gilbert's knee. "That is, if you don't mind."

Gil knows he should hate the way Vincent smells. It should remind him only of bad things, bad times, moments he should have stopped, would never let happen again.

"I don't mind," he says, taking Vincent's hand from his knee and curling it firmly around the coffee cup.

It would be so _easy_ for it to be right between them. Even after everything that's happened, the good and the bad and the things he never wants to think about (the things he doesn't want to want to think about), it would be so _easy_. There's no reason, none at all, that they can't enjoy a cup of coffee together. It would probably be a little more normal if they each had one, but at this point, for a moment of solace, he'll take what he can get.

It's a longshot not to pout, but Vincent tries, at least, even as he takes a slow sip of the coffee in question and rather wishes Gilbert was personally delivering it into his mouth. "You can stay until we have to go out tonight, you know. If you want to take a nap, even, you can just rest in here."

Gil doesn't bother looking for much of an excuse that doesn't exist. It actually feels nice to relax, and who would have thought that he'd be able to find that here, of all places, on such a day?

"Yeah," he sighs out, trying not to admit how much he's needed a bit of human contact, how little he's had. Maybe what frightens him the most about Vincent's fixation on him is how well he understands it, after all. He knows what it feels like to be without anything, ties to anyone, except the one strange one he was born with.

And damn it all, he doesn't _hate_ his brother, even when he does.

He turns a bit, reaching out almost to touch Vincent, then pulling his hand back. "I...you know, I...hate this. What you're working for. What you want. I hate it, and I want you to stop wanting it."

Vincent feels his breath hitch harder than it should at the mere thought of Gilbert touching him. Never mind that it doesn't happen, that Gil pulls his hand away at the last second; it's the thought that leaves him reflexively leaning closer, chin propped atop Gilbert's shoulder as his eyes slowly lid.

"Without me, your life would be so much easier. None of this would have even happened." Vincent smiles tiredly. "You know, it's really sweet of you, brother, to want me to stop… but I won't."

Maybe it's enough for Vincent to know, that he doesn't _want_ this. Maybe when the time comes to make the choice, when Leo is enough Glen Baskerville to free Oz and grant his wish, he'll remember this moment, and he'll hesitate. "Just..."

Gil growls a little in frustration, lighting another cigarette even as he leans a little to the side, resting his head against Vincent's. "You're an idiot. I don't want you gone. I just want you to _behave_ yourself."

"I'm not good at that," Vincent sighs, tipping his head forward just a bit more to nuzzle into the side of Gilbert's neck. "And besides, it was never a matter of _behaving_ myself that caused all of this, you know…"

"For someone who doesn't want to exist anymore, you sure think a lot of yourself," Gil grumbles, reaching up to push Vincent's head away. His hair is so _soft_, like spun silk in the golden afternoon light, even if he doesn't want to think like that, and he doesn't wind up exactly pushing him away so much as resting his hand on his brother's head. "Sometimes I think this weird wish of yours is just a big search for compliments. Would that change your mind? If I tell you good things about yourself? Is that what you want?"

Unfazed, Vincent merely butts his head back against Gilbert's hand, leaning heavily into the touch with a sound not unlike a purr. Really , this isn't a new thing, Gilbert's quest to tell him to behave and that there's no _need_ for him to disappear. Vincent has simply gotten better at ignoring it over the past two years. "No, I don't want that. You can keep touching my hair, though; I might go to sleep."

Gil doesn't pull his hand away, twining a few strands around his fingers, always conscious that with every move he makes, Vincent might accept it at face value-or might twist it until it means something different, unintended, with consequences that he's not prepared to deal with.

Yet...

"You can sleep if you want, for a few hours. You look..." He trails off, staring down at his empty coffee cup. "You look like a kid again when you sleep."

"Not here," Vincent murmurs, withdrawing just slightly, enough to feel the slow pull of Gilbert's hands through his hair. "In the actual bed. That's what it's for, after all-and it's large enough for the both of us."

There's really no other way to respond, short of saying outright that he doesn't _trust_ his little brother, than agreeing. Maybe...

There's always a _maybe_, with Vincent. There's always a chance, a shot in the dark, a snowball's chance in hell that this time, it'll be different. This time, he'll screw his head on straight and go back to being that cute little kid he used to be, the man Gil had thought he'd grow up to be. He _remembers_ now, remembers how proud Vincent had looked in the uniform Master Jack had given him, how hard he'd tried, and god, he's still trying hard.

_And if there's stuff wrong with him, that's my fault, because I should have protected him better. Even if I didn't want to, it was my job._

He doesn't strip off completely, just down to his shirt and slacks before doing as Vincent suggests, flopping down on the bed that, yeah, is big and soft enough for probably three or four people instead of just the two of them. "You actually going to let me sleep?" he asks, keeping one eye open in spite of everything.

"If you're actually tired," Vincent says, lashes low as he slides his way onto the bed, nestled up close to Gilbert's back. His face immediately presses into the other man's curls, into the back of his neck, and his arms find their way around Gilbert's waist, squeezing just slightly. "I want you to be well-rested, after all."

"I'm always tired," Gil mutters without meaning to, sighing out a breath as he wriggles around, trying to get enough room to be comfortable. "You said yourself this bed is plenty big, go sleep on your own side."

"It's cold in here, though." A long, lean leg idly finds its way slung over Gilbert's. "Don't you want me to keep you warm?"

"Vincent..."

Gilbert shoves at Vincent's leg, steadfastly ignoring the way his body protests that it's been too _long_, that Vincent smells good and feels soft and like home. "Knock it off. I thought you wanted me to sleep."

Vincent pouts against the back of Gilbert's neck, even as he scoots back a sparse few inches. "I _do_. I'm trying to be nice, you know. You should let me take care of you more."

"This isn't taking care of me. This is...you. Doing that _thing_ again." He shuts his eyes, trying to remind himself that he doesn't need to guilt himself into letting Vincent sprawl all over him. That he's even here should be enough. "Try to get some rest. You're usually good at that."

Normally, Vincent would feel inclined to poke and prod and goad Gilbert, just a little bit, into better explaining what that 'thing' actually is. For now, though, the blond merely sighs, still resting his face into the back of Gilbert's neck, but otherwise deciding not to cling to him so very much. "All right, brother. Get some rest."

Of course, 'rest' for Vincent is a relative thing-he isn't quite so narcoleptic these days, but he rarely finds the urge to sleep for hours and hours upon end. The occasional nap with his eyes open does the trick, especially when one has such a troublesome master to look after, and now is no exception, no matter how he wishes he could sleep the afternoon away at Gilbert's side.

Well, it's been a couple of hours, at any rate, and he's still sort of drowsy from what nap he _did_ manage. He can call that a success, he supposes, and success deserves a reward. Vincent sighs as he stretches, long and luxurious and wriggling ever close to Gilbert in the process, his breath warm against the side of his brother's neck. The hand that slips down Gilbert's stomach, to the fly of his trousers _really_ can't be helped, nor can he help himself from dragging that hand between Gilbert's legs, cupping and squeezing languidly.

It's rare these days that Gilbert doesn't wake up in a cold sweat, reliving some past nightmare that's probably shy of any of his real horrors. It's beyond luxury to wake up like this, warm and drowsy in a place that smells like coffee and home, nestled against a soft body, his body rousing to-

-to a very _insistent_ hand.

For a moment, just a moment, Gil keeps his eyes closed. He's still half-asleep, enough out of it to think that this might not be such a bad idea, to let someone take care of him, rub him off the way no one's done for far too long, coax him into a sleepy, easy orgasm, even if that person is...

"Vincent..." He murmurs the name, his hand coming up to sleepily push at Vincent's hand-not, to his shame, anywhere near as hard as he probably should, as his cock fills and swells under his little brother's touch. "You-shouldn't..."

"I told you… you have to let me take care of you, Gil," Vincent sighs into his neck, sliding his own body closer, his lips warm as they close around the lobe of Gilbert's ear. It feels good like this, to simply wriggle against his brother, his own cock hard and straining against his trousers as his fingers sleepily fumble with the fastenings of Gilbert's, all the better to slip inside and drag a thumb over the head of his cock. "You're already so hard…" A slow, firm squeeze follows the words. "Are you sure you don't want to just… enjoy yourself for a change?"

God, he's the worst brother in the world for even _considering_ such a thing, for not being more repulsed at Vincent's lips on his ear, at his touch, at his words. He can feel the hardness of Vincent's cock pressing against him, and shies away from that thought, face flaming at the sheer _wrongness_ of the situation.

And yet...

Gil can't help the twitch of his hips up, thrusting against his brother's hand, his own hand tightening on Vincent's wrist, and god, he's right, enjoying himself _would_ be a change. He closes his eyes, shuts them tight against his own disgrace, giving a quick, ashamed little nod that he knows Vincent will see. "Just-quickly."

_Please._

"You're sure you want to like this?" The words escape as a hot exhale against Gilbert's throat even as Vincent's fingers tighten insistently, even as he smears the fluid leaking, dripping from his brother's cock down the length of him, making each stroke of his hand sticky, slick. "I like it when you fuck me, you know."

Vincent's own hips jerk forward at the thought, and he bites his lip for a moment, drawing in a shuddering breath to calm his own racing pulse. "I like it when you slide so deep inside me that I can't _breathe_, brother. You could use me however you like, I don't care. I just-mmn-want _you_-"

Gil's breath comes fast and hard, his face flaming as he gasps, "You shouldn't-god, you shouldn't talk like that, you-"

_You make me want to-_

Vincent knows where all his buttons are, and just how to press them. Vincent knows, and he's always liked playing with fire, never caring if he gets burned, and damn it, it's his own fault if people aren't _gentle_ with him, isn't it?

For all he is dangerous, Vincent isn't the most physically powerful man, and Gil knows he's stronger, uses it to his full advantage as he turns, grabbing Vincent's wrists and pinning them above his head with one hand, grinding his hips down, hard cock rubbing against Vincent's as he lets out a hiss. "Spread your legs then," he whispers, voice low and dark, hating Vincent for driving him to this, hating himself for not being able to stop it.

God, it's hard not to simply lose himself right there, with Gilbert's gaze so intensely trained on him, _only_ him, and his voice sending chills down his spine that make him that much needier. Vincent trembles, panting out a high, desperate little sound as he hastens to do as he's told, his legs spreading wide, thighs splaying to either side of Gilbert's hips as his fingers clench into fists.

"There's…" He gulps, sucking in a calming breath, though it does little to calm how eager he is. "There's a bottle of oil underneath a pillow… if y-you want it, to make it better for you."

It's worse, somehow, that Vincent doesn't struggle-or maybe that makes it better after all, having him straining up and positively begging to be fucked, like every kind of whore. It even makes Gil angry that he's got such a thing as sweet body oil, floral and spicy when he opens the little bottle, spilling it over his cock without any regard for Vincent's sheets. He's only got the patience to slick himself with one stroke of his hand before he's pressing against Vincent's hole, thrusting deep inside him like he's asked for, _begged_ for like the harlot his little brother is.

Gil holds his wrists bruisingly hard, not caring who sees them tomorrow. "You shouldn't-let men do this to you. Not me, not _anyone_."

Vincent's groaning, arching as Gilbert slides inside of him, his thighs clamping to either side of the man's hips to drag him in, to only encourage him to fill him deeper. "Just want you," he huffs out, letting his head loll back as he pants shallowly through trembling lips, his arms reflexively straining against Gilbert's hold, _wanting_ to bury into his hair or claw down his back or just touch the man _anywhere._ His cock twitches with just the slightest movement of Gilbert inside of him, and Vincent whines, body lurching upward. "I-if-if you wanted it to just be you, I'd stop, I'd just be yours-"

God, it's hard to focus on the things he wants to tell Vincent-the things he's supposed to say-the things he's supposed to be to the younger man when he's so tight, so hot, so willing and pliable and sensually hungry beneath him. "Don't-don't say things like that," he mutters, burying his face into Vincent's neck.

He wants, wants so much and his cock is so hard that it's impossible to remember the other things, like be a proper man and stop acting like this and don't be such a whore on your back for god's sake when he's close to the edge simply because Vincent is those things, willing and pliable and it's far too nice to be wanted for once. It feels better than it should, thrusting hard into that trembling heat, feeling Vincent writhe at every press of his cock, and this isn't the kind of thing that should make his cock swell and twitch, but oh, it is.

"Could I finish you like this?" he murmurs into his brother's ear, finally releasing his hold on Vincent's wrists to grab his ass with both hands instead, spreading him wide, yanking him down onto each thrust. "Without a touch? God, you're so hard."

The walls in this damned place are _thin_, and so Vincent has the mind to clamp a newly freed hand over his own mouth when he nearly shrieks, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as Gilbert slides in so deep, strikes him just right, and leaves every nerve singing, every muscle trembling. He manages a frantic nod, panting, half-sobbing, half-groaning into his own hand before letting it slide away, his breath catching on a harsh, heaving sigh.

"Feels good, so good," he mindlessly babbles, his back arching to better grind his cock up against Gilbert as best he can, leaking over his own stomach as every thrust makes him _twitch._ "Please, Gil-help me, I can't-"

It's far too late for anything like modesty, and Gil is reduced to nothing but brutal, punishing thrusts, all the anger and confusion and concern he feels pouring out through his body with every slam of his hips deeper, deeper as he moves, holding him down with the weight of his body. "Yes you can," he grunts, spreading Vincent's thighs wider, splaying him out like a damned sacrifice. "You made your bed, now _lie_ in it."

It's not pity, just more anger that makes him roll his hips, hating himself for knowing _exactly_ how his little brother loves to be fucked, _exactly_ where to hit him to make spots explode behind his eyes, _exactly_ where that spot is deep inside him that he loves having Gil's cock drag against.

It's so good that it nearly hurts, and Vincent finds himself reduced to whimpering, desperate little noises after awhile, screams and moans choked down into his throat as he just sags beneath each perfect slide of Gilbert's cock deep inside of him. A hand clamps to Gilbert's back, wrapping up in the material of his shirt that still clings to his skin, clawing into it with each thrust that leaves him trembling, aching all the more.

When he finally does come, Vincent can't even breathe, can't catch his breath as he spills over his stomach, lips parted as he gasps for breath, deep and ragged. _Everything_ aches-muscles drawn so tight that it hurts, trembling, twitching as he writhes his way down against Gilbert's cock, something between a sob and a groan escaping his lips.

Gil can't even _breathe_. It's too tight inside Vincent, too overwhelming, and it's been too damned long on top of everything else. He leans back on his elbows just enough to stare into Vincent's face as he reaches his peak, overwhelmed, desperate, thrusting so hard he's got to be hurting the younger man, forcing himself to _look_, to look at what he's done, to look at what he can't resist, can't be better than, at what he's corrupted.

It doesn't help. It never does. It always ends the same way, with Gil gasping as Vincent clenches down tight around him, hot as a furnace, a needy, hungry thing desperate for his cock, and Gil is panting by the time he falls over that precipice, groaning out something he hopes isn't a name when he spills deep inside his brother, sagging down onto his chest, sweating and drained.

God, he hopes it wasn't a name.

Vincent, thankfully, is content to ignore anything and everything save for the weight of Gilbert against him, the heat of his breath, the smell of his hair as he buries his face into it, cigarettes and something just clean and almost linen-y, even if it _is_ a name.

"Always… always so perfect, Gil," Vincent mumbles, nuzzling his face into Gilbert's neck, his arms wrapped tightly around him, refusing to let him pull away just yet. "So good, so very very good…"

Gil doesn't bother pulling away yet. As he'd said-he's made his bed, more literally than metaphorically. He might as well lie in it for as long as he can forget the rest of the world.

His head bows down to rest on Vincent's shoulder, unable, _unwilling_ to stop himself from placing a kiss there, pulling aside the cloth to press his lips to the smooth bare skin. "Stay," he whispers, everything still spinning, still perfect. "Stay with me, please, you're all I've got."

Vincent's lips curve into a tired, sated smile, and his fingers wind up through the other man's hair, stroking through the mussed, sweaty mess of it. "I'm not going anywhere yet, brother," he murmurs. "And besides, once I do, you won't remember it, so it won't hurt."

No matter what Vincent says, it hurts _now_, and makes him furious that Vincent can't see that. Furious, but not now, not when he's satiated and bonelessly draped, cooling sweat and still-shivering muscles, and once they're this far, pressing a kiss to Vincent's mouth isn't the worst thing he can do, is it?

He's within an inch when he pulls back, disgusted with himself. Bad enough that he's here, he's been weak again. Worse if he keeps trying to coax Vincent back from that edge with what he doesn't have to give.

Vincent does his best not to frown-or pout, actually, because really, after all that, a kiss _would _be nice. It's with a sigh that he simply leans up himself, stealing a kiss from Gilbert's lips before the other man can pull away, and he smiles as he sinks back down, looking quite pleased with himself. "I can draw up a bath for us, if you want."

"I'm not your lover." It's hypocritical on his tongue, when he's hardly pulled his cock out, and god, if Vincent is off in the head, Gil's easily as bad, and _knows_ it. "I..."

He swallows hard, resting his forehead down against Vincent's. "I don't understand what you do to me."

"You _did_ just make love to me," Vincent mildly points out in rebuttal-not accusingly, but more amused instead than anything. His eyes lid as he looks up at Gilbert. "Love doesn't have to make sense or be easily understood, Gil."

Gil hisses out a breath through his nose, wishing he could understand how they end up here time after time. Then again...

If he is going to lose his brother forever, there are probably worse ways to spend their time together. "Yeah. I could use a bath. Just don't splash out my cigarette this time."

"Only if you share it with me; I could use one after all of that," Vincent languidly sighs as he gives Gilbert a gentle push to ease him up, and follows shortly after onto his elbows. "I think I have some of your clean clothes from the last time you were here…"

Gil strips off his clothes, wrinkling his nose at the state of them. "I'll need them, christ. You could at least have gotten them off me first. And you're not smoking, it's bad for you."

"Hypocrite," is the easy toss over Vincent's shoulder as he wriggles free of his own clothing as well, ribbon pulled from the mess of his hair and leaving the mussed length of it to trail down his back as he drifts across the room and into the attached washroom. "I'm breathing in the smoke, anyway, if I'm sitting near you."

Shouldn't be looking, he _knows_ he shouldn't, even if Vincent slinks like a girl and that's never been anything he's ever cared about...

He still can't help crossing the room in a couple long strides, tangling a hand in Vincent's hair, tilting his head back for a proper kiss this time, the one he should have given earlier. _Just because I don't understand it, because I hate it, doesn't mean I can stop._

_And it doesn't mean I hate you._

"Not too hot," he says instead, cheeks pink as he grabs for his cigarettes. "You tried to boil me last time."

Vincent beams, a hand lifting to absently brush his fingers over his lips, obviously savoring the lingering touch of Gilbert's. "Whatever you want, brother," he murmurs, making to turn away entirely again. "I'll make sure it's perfect for you."

Gil shakes out his own hair, lighting up a cigarette before climbing into the tub. He can't quite keep from staring at Vincent's backside, slick and shiny and god, he's _dripping_, and Gil should really feel worse about himself right now. "You uh, seem better. Than last time."

"Better? How?" The water is warm, but not _too_ hot, no matter how Vincent prefers it to be scalding, himself. He sighs once it's run and he sinks down into it, fumbling over the side to find a pin to properly hold up the mess of his hair as he bundles it up onto the back of his head. "I'm just happy you're here, Gil," he idly adds, stretching out a foot to poke at Gilbert's leg.

"Just...better. Calmer. Less..." _Murdery_. "I don't know. Better." He takes a long drag on his cigarette, idly running a finger up the bottom of Vincent's foot, flicking one of his toes. "I've been remembering a lot of stuff lately. You probably never forgot any of it. Remember the old tub at the Baskerville place?" Their first bath in years, and the servants had had to drain the tub twice before the filthy street children were clean.

Vincent squirms even as he reclines, leaning his head against the rim of the tub as he props one foot up onto Gilbert's knee. "Mmm, the old clawfoot one? It was pretty, with all the carvings and things in it. Everything here at the Nightray estate is so _plain._"

"Yeah. It was always so _cold_, though. I...there was that woman, who always made us sit in it before it started running, even when it was cold..." Gil shakes his head, trying to clear it of the old cobwebs as he strokes a hand down Vincent's calf and shin, fingers tracing along his ankle. "Do you remember the first night in that bed, all clean and everything?"

"If you keep _doing_ that-" Vincent warns, his leg jerking slightly as he twitches, trying not to have an awfully ticklish reaction and failing. "Brother, you certainly are remembering some of the rather sentimental things, aren't you?"

A grin tugs at Gil's mouth, feeling rusty and unfamiliar on his face, at Vincent's reaction. He brushes his fingertips over Vincent's knee, then the underside of it, knowing how that gets to him. "I guess I am. I...I'm sorry. That I forgot you, all those years."

Vincent bites his lip to keep back something of a shriek, even as he squirms and splashes. "This is how your cigarettes always end up put out," he points out on a huff, even if he sounds far from annoyed. "And you didn't forget me, Gil. It was only a matter of time, after all."

Gil can't help but laugh, crushing out the butt of his cigarette himself before flicking it out the window. God, he remembers when Vincent used to be _cute_, used to be a little bratty, a lot clingy, but a _good_ kid, and remembering that kind of stuff fundamentally changes the strange, shaky relationship they've forged in the last several years. He reaches over casually, running his fingertips up Vincent's other leg before giving it a little pinch. "Maybe if I'd remembered sooner...I don't know. I could have straightened you out."

A pair of elegant eyebrows climb. "There's not much to be 'straightened out' at this point, you know. Perhaps I rather like being something of a circle."

"You're ridiculous."

It's easier to be annoyed than to be frustrated, angry at Vincent's refusal to be saved by the person who should have been there with him the whole time. Gil pulls his hand back, raking it through his hair, brows drawing together in a frown. "You should listen to your brother, you know."

Vincent's smile twists a might bit weary. "I should. Then tell me what you would do to 'straighten me out', Gil-would you have me as yours, and only yours?" _That's all I wanted, you know._

Gil leans forward, bracing his arms on the tub as he leans over, face close to Vincent's. "I'd tell you to stop being so...so _out there_ all the time. Stop blaming yourself for things that aren't your fault, depend on me a little more." His hand comes up to cup Vincent's face, thumb stroking along his cheekbone. "You're my only family. Seeing you like this..."

_You remind me of everything I've ever failed at._

Vincent heaves a long sigh, even as his hands reach up to wrap into Gilbert's hair, dragging him forward and down. "You still don't get it," he murmurs wistfully. "How much trouble I've caused you, how much I've hurt you-let me take care of you, and let you depend on _me_ for a little while, at least until I'm gone."

That drags a bitter little laugh out of Gil, even as he lets Vincent pull him close, bracing one hand on Vincent's chest, feeling the pulse of his heart even as he leans in. "You think I don't know? I was there, you know. Believe me, no one knows better than me about the trouble you cause me." He brushes his lips across Vincent's, a soft, chaste kiss for once. "That doesn't mean I want you gone."

"It'll be better, though, if I am." Vincent's head tilts slightly to the side. "If I weren't there-I bet Jack would have just picked you up, and you would have been some sheltered noble's servant. That sounds a lot nicer compared to everything else, doesn't it?"

"And if I wasn't? You know what happened to Break. What if-" Gil almost breaks off at the thought of mentioning it, but pushes on nonetheless. "What if I'd just stayed with our parents? Or were you too young to remember them?" Gil sort of wishes he had been. "No matter what, we'd have all died in Sablier. Is that what you want? You're the only one who saved me from that."

"Or maybe, if I hadn't been there to open that gate, Sablier would have never _happened_," Vincent lowly points out, giving a shake of his head. "Either way, if I hadn't been there… it would have been better."

"You don't _know_ that. I..." Gil breaks off, a little growl of frustration even as he turns with a huff, relaxing back onto his brother. "You want to take care of me, fine. Wash my hair." There's no use arguing, not when Vincent is so unreasonable, and he _does_ have talented hands.

He really can't help the sigh of relief that escapes, not when the conversation simply becomes _uncomfortable_ nowadays. Honestly, Vincent is too tired to repeat himself, to become something of a broken record, and so he gladly reaches for the soap, kneading it through Gil's hair and scrubbing his fingers along the man's scalp. "Anything for you, Gil," he murmurs. "When will you realize that?"

_Except do the one thing I want you to. Or anything, really._ But that's Vincent, and really, what's the point of trying to cling to his brother if he's not going to accept the way he is?

He leans back into the touch, eyes sliding closed. He means to say something encouraging, something to make Vincent relax a bit himself, but what comes out is "I don't want to do this shit tonight, Vince."

Vincent's fingers don't as much as pause. "I can make up an excuse for you. Duke Baskerville needn't be any wiser."

"Not like that. I...I don't want it to get done. I don't want to go after her." He slumps back against Vincent's hands, wishing he'd brought his whole pack of cigarettes with him, with the kind of day this is turning out to be. "I'm sick of hurting people I like."

"… If our master wants it done, then we don't have a choice," Vincent quietly points out, gently coaxing Gilbert's head to tilt back into the water, just enough for him to wash the soap free. "I-" _I don't want to do it either, I don't want to see her, don't want her to see me. _"If you're there, there's a good chance it won't be quite so… traumatic for her," he settles upon. "If you can convince her to talk…"

"Yeah. I know." Gil lets his brother guide his head, wishing the rest of his worries would wash away as easily as the soap, submitting rather gratefully to the gentle touches to his scalp. "You know, we used to joke around..." He trails off, suddenly aware of just how true just that part of his sentence is, and his chest clenches tight. Can't think about her. Can't use her name. Can't remember what she used to be like as a little kid, not if I'm going to deliver her to Duke Baskerville in a few hours.

It's not easy to shake the images, and Gil's hands dig into Vincent's knees as he winces. "Hate this."

_So do I._

Vincent exhales slowly, his fingers sliding down to Gilbert's shoulders, methodically kneading. "Just come, and help convince her to open her mouth and _talk._ I'll deal with our master as best as I can. If he's in a good enough mood, it won't be so bad."

Gil snorts, then groans at the way Vincent's fingers work his muscles, head lolling forward at the skillful manipulation. "Should be in a good mood," he mutters, eyes almost rolling back in his head at how good it feels. "_God_, Vince, that's good-he's got to be in a better mood now that he's got Elliot back. Or, you know, mostly Elliot."

"Considering what I've walked in on and almost walked in on several times now…" Vincent drawls, digging his thumbs in harder when it comes to an especially tense bunch of muscles. "But, you know Duke Baskerville-he always has something to brood about. Sometimes, I'm reminded of you."

Gil bristles a little at that, only to relax into a moan when Vincent works over the knots in his back, shuddering and going pathetically limp. "N-not fair. I don't plot like him. That's the kind of thing you and him get off on. And when you say walk in on...you mean like back when they were kids? That time in the music room?"

"I _mean_ like animals rutting on the floor," Vincent murmurs into his ear, working his fingers back up the back of Gilbert's neck as his head lolls. "And I can tell you a dozen things that I _get off on_ far more than plotting… except you already seem to know them well enough."

Gilbert sort of wants to bristle at that, but damned if he doesn't feel good. And honestly... "Good, let them have their fun. Not like either of them have much of a reputation to worry about at this point." He braces his hands on Vincent's spread legs, mouth curving in a little smile. "You're pretty shameless about the things you like. Especially when I'm doing them."

"Mmhm." It's difficult, really, not to take the chance and run with it-and so Vincent does, wriggling just enough to slide his half-hard cock against Gilbert with a little, hitching sigh. "It's hard not to be, when I get to see you so infrequently now…"

It's always something of a shock, though it _shouldn't_ be, to feel Vincent's cock pressing against him. Not that Gil's imagining a girl or anything; it's just different, being reminded that his little brother is a _man_, after all, with the same needs and demands as any man, for all his strangeness.

Well, after all, Vincent's been doing lots of taking care of him today. Gil sighs, resting back against Vincent's chest, arching his back a little. "Yeah? Go ahead, then. Be shameless."

At this point, Gil should really know better than to give him any leeway.

At the same time, Vincent is eternally grateful that he still hasn't learned.

"What if I want you to fuck me again?" The fact of the matter is, Vincent _knows_ exactly how lewd he sounds-husky and breathy around the edges, needy as he nuzzles into Gilbert's neck. "What if I wanted you to flip me over and shove me face down into something, anything… maybe mount me like some animal-you could use my hair as a handle, even-" He shivers, his arms sliding down, low about Gilbert's waist as his hips jerk up, his cock grinding slowly against his brother's lower back. "I like it… when you use me like I'm yours, Gil."

God, he should have _known better_.

Gil lets out a strangled noise, hips jerking forward as his cock hardens no matter how startling, how degrading the request-or, despite himself, because of it. "V-Vincent! I-" He swallows hard, hands digging into Vincent's thighs, saying with a shudder, "I don't know why you can't want something less crazy for once."

That doesn't make his cock any less hard, and he lurches forward and out of the tub, grabbing a towel and rubbing himself down. When he looks back over his shoulder at his brother, his golden eyes blaze. "Hurry up, then. Before I remember why this is a bad idea."

Vincent doesn't need to be told twice, and really, what's the point of drying himself off when he'll be so warm courtesy of his brother in only a few moments? He fumbles with the pin in his hair as he pulls himself from the tub, dripping as he stumbles over to Gilbert, nuzzles into his chest as his arms wind their way around the other man's neck. "Instead of that," he murmurs, nipping gently at Gilbert's collarbone, "maybe you can be reminded of why it's a good one."

If this is what Vincent wants, is cracked enough to ask for, then it's what he's going to _get_.

He grabs Vincent by the hips, spinning him around and shoving him into the wall, grinding the hardening length of his cock along the cleft of his brother's ass. "You said something before about rutting on the floor like animals," he breathes, hands digging in so hard he'll probably leave bruises. "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Vince?"

"Yes," Vincent gasps out, of no mind to keep his voice back as his hands slam into the wall, nails scratching at the wallpaper as he arches his back, grinding back against the hard line of his brother's cock. He whines low in his throat, his head bowing forward as he draws in a shuddering breath. "Only-I just-only want it with _you_-"

Gil's teeth nip at Vincent's shoulder, latching onto his neck, sucking hard enough to break the skin. "Liar," he mutters, sliding his cock forward, letting it catch against that little hole before pulling back. "I've heard way too many men talking about how they've had you." Girls too, of course, but that had never bothered him, thinking that Vincent could find a nice girl who might change him into something more normal. But to hear those lowlifes call his brother a whore...

Vincent groans, his hips jerking back, a desperate little noise leaving his throat as Gilbert doesn't put his cock in, doesn't stuff him full, doesn't leave him writhing and begging for more of it and instead still so _empty_. "I'm n-not lying," he manages, panting out a hot, fast breath. "Just because I was with them… that doesn't mean I didn't want you, that I wasn't thinking about you."

"You...you humiliated me, Vince," Gil breathes against his ear, holding him tighter still, keeping those narrow hips in place. "Did you think I didn't know? Didn't see you coming back late with your hair and your clothes all messed up, crawling into our bed and smelling like a stranger's cologne?"

He shoves forward, spreading Vincent around the head of his cock, then pulls out again. "Or were you trying to make me jealous?"

The sound that leaves his throat that time is more akin to a sob, and Vincent bows forward, shuddering, his body twitching, trembling at the loss from just that much. "I-I wasn't-I just…" God, he's going to have _bruises_, and savor them later-not only on his wrists now, but his hips, too, and Vincent knees nearly knock, threatening to buckle at the thought of how tightly Gilbert's going to hold him when he finally shoves in and fucks him. "Please, please, _please_-"

Whatever's wrong with his brother has to be genetic, a family thing, because damned if Gil isn't right there in hell with him. There's no point to forcing any words out of Vincent when he's like this, too far gone for anything but fucking, and with a long, slow stroke to his hair, Gil obliges him, slamming home with a powerful thrust, groaning because it _shouldn't_ be that tight still, and god, he can feel some of the mess he'd left before, still deep inside. "Tight," he gasps, hands trembling, and he holds Vincent's hips all the harder for it. "God, you're so-"

Vincent's body sags, his hands clawing at the wall as he shudders hard, mouth falling open at how _deep_ Gilbert is inside of him, how it aches being stretched so wide and full by every inch of his cock. He nearly rocks onto his tiptoes with the drag of Gilbert's hips, and whimpers, wriggling backwards, twisting within Gilbert's hold to fuck himself back harder onto that perfect, perfect cock.

"Y-you said…" His voice is little more than a hoarse, desperate thing. "You said you'd-use me. So just _do it_, Gil-"

That's more than enough encouragement at this point to snap what little self-control Gilbert has left. He lets out a noise, choked, helpless, and fists one hand hard in Vincent's hair, holding his face against the wall as his other hand tightens on Vincent's hips, dragging him back into every savage thrust. "Shut up," he growls, slamming deep inside faster and faster, thinking of nothing but how _good_ it feels to let go, to finally, truly sate himself without concern. "You wanted this, now _take_ it, show me what a whore you are for everyone but me-"

Vincent wants to obey, wants to _shut up_, but it's easier said than done when every hard, rough thrust leaves him sobbing, his knees buckling and his body held up by his brother's demanding hands, his cock shoved deep inside of him. His hips jerk back on their own accord, desperation leaving him to try for _more_, to be Gil's harlot, Gil's whore once and for all-and god, if that doesn't feel _good_, being at Gil's mercy, trapped beneath Gil's hands as his cock stretches and fills him and leaves him writhing back for more.

It's difficult-no, _impossible_ to feel bad about what he's doing when Vincent is begging so hard for it, thrashing on his cock in a futile attempt to take more than what he's already being given, and god, Gil sort of wants to _hurt_ him. "You're so-nice and clean," he hisses, nails digging in to the soft skin of Vincent's hip, yanking back on that golden-red hair. "Maybe I should see how much of a whore you are, make you lick me clean when I'm done with you. Are you that shameless, little brother?"

He's beginning to suspect that _he_ is, after all.

A strangled, mindless groan leaves Vincent's throat as his hips buck, torn between grinding back against Gilbert's cock and rutting against the wall. It's almost too much, how Gil is holding him, how he's pulling back into every thrust, making it _hurt_ with how he claims him, and Vincent can only nod desperately, his breath stolen and his chest heaving. "I-if that's what you want-" Or more accurately, _please, please, please, anything you want._

Gil doesn't even know what he wants anymore, wants to punish Vincent, wants to protect him, wants to never see him again, wants to fuck him through the wall, and he's _not_ gentle.

He nearly lifts Vincent off the ground when he loses his mind, just his toes still touching the floor as Gil holds him up, fucks him hard, holding him too-tight and yanking him back by the hair into every brutal thrust, knowing it's got to be agonizing to be trapped between his body and the wall and just not giving a shit.

He doesn't have the stamina he wants, not now, and he loses himself in Vincent's body, a shameless cry leaking from his lips as he ruts hard, slamming in as deep as he can possibly go, and this time at least the name on his lips is Vincent's.

Vincent hears himself sobbing into the wall even if he doesn't quite register it, feels his toes curl until they're painful, feels every muscle tense and trembling as he comes, full of Gilbert's cock and come and _god_, it's good, being this used and sore and so very, very spent that he can do little but shake as he sags into his brother's hold, panting raggedly.

"God," Vincent manages breathlessly, fingers twitching as he lurches forward a bit, just enough to lean into the wall for some form of support, and whimpers at how he hurts-pleasantly so, in a way that he _knows_ will last.

Gil drags him back for a kiss, then shoves him down to his knees, threading a hand through his hair. "You heard me," he breathes, still trying to catch his breath. "Go on."

Vincent has the mind to flush, at least, because this, out of all things, really is all sorts of debauched. Still, he obeys-tongue flicking out to lap at the head of Gilbert's cock, then the rest of him, inch by inch, all while precariously balanced on shaking, wobbling knees, his hands lifting to rest against Gilbert's thighs.

There's got to be a special place in hell for the man who's made Vincent Nightray blush. Just now, Gil doesn't mind being the one destined to occupy it, not with how his little brother looks sucking a messy cock on his knees. He sighs, running his hands through Vincent's hair, brushing it back from his face as he starts to go soft in Vincent's mouth. "Good. God, sorry, I...I shouldn't have..." The shame starts to settle in over him, but damn it all, Gil's too tired for proper shame. "Come back to bed, Vince."

"… Wanted to, don't apologize," Vincent manages after another, breathless moment, after he's pulled back and made sure Gilbert is clean. He delicately wipes his mouth as he climbs to his feet, still wobbling a bit as he straightens, and in the end gives into the urge to sag forward against Gilbert, nuzzling his face into the side of his neck. "Gil," he breathes, "_were_ you jealous, all those times?"

It's painfully obvious how much Vincent wants him to say yes. Gil steers them back to the bed, easing them down onto it, tucking his brother's head under his chin as he considers his answer. "I...I don't know. I hated them. You never seemed happy when you came back, and I hated that."

He presses a kiss to the top of Vincent's head, wrapping an arm around him. It's more affectionate than he's been in years, but tonight, it feels all right. "I hate anyone who would hurt you."

It isn't the answer he wants, not exactly, but it'll do for now, at the very least.

Vincent nods, curling himself into a ball against his brother, contently settling against him, aching muscles and bones and all. "Same," he sighs. "I won't let anyone hurt you anymore, Gil."

"Idiot."

_The only one hurting me is you._


	5. Chapter 5

It feels wrong, being without Leo.

Elliot's never particularly enjoyed going into the dark places of the world without Leo at his back, even if now he's the servant instead of the master, and it only makes sense. It still feels _wrong_, like there's a part of him missing, a dull thudding ache that reminds him with every step that his master isn't here, his master is _out there where he should be_, his master might _need_ him.

Even if he does have Jabberwock.

Elliot shoves the memory of that winged monstrosity out of his mind, hand on his sword as he descends into the abandoned building, leaving Gilbert and Vincent behind with the carriage. Supposedly, there had been a guard, but Gilbert had explained the situation to him before Elliot had arrived, which at least makes one thing easier.

He follows the map Gil had drawn, descending the stairs, searching out the proper hallway. Of the corridor of doors, just one of them is shut, let alone locked. He tries it, knocking when the doorknob doesn't turn. "Ada Vessalius? Hey, are you in there or not?"

There's a tiny little squeak from inside-well, that answers that question, at any rate. After a second, there's the patter of soft shoes, and a familiar tinny voice asks, "W-who's there?"

"_Don't tell her you're a chain_," Leo's words echo in his head. _"She won't understand. You remember, she never was the brightest._"

That's certainly true, even though Elliot can't remember Leo ever agreeing with him about that. Eh, maybe he's finally seen the light. "It's Elliot Nightray. Come out of there, I'm here to take you somewhere safe."

"You're lying! Elliot is dead!"

It should probably touch him, that she sounds so upset about his death. In light of the current circumstances, it just annoys him. God, he hates it when girls cry. "Look, everyone thought your brother was dead, right? Come on, you know I'm not a liar. Here, I have something to show you."

He slides a little scrap of cloth under the door, hoping it means something like Leo had said it does. Apparently so-after just a second, he hears the sound of several locks clicking open, and before he can move, a girl who's far too curvy to go around jumping on people jumps on him, arms tight around his neck, certain other parts of her anatomy doing a damn good job trying to squash him. "Elliot! I'm so happy, I can't believe it's _you_, and you have-"

"Aahhh! Get off of me, you're strangling me!"

"You're the _same!_ Oh, but you're so tall now, and so handsome, you grew up so-"

"I said get _off_ of me!" Elliot finally manages to extricate himself, wincing at the sheer strength of the girl's hold. Irritably, he grabs her hand with the one not on the hilt of his sword, yanking her up the stairs. "Come on, already."

"Where are we going? Uncle Oscar said-"

"Somewhere safer. We found out some people are trying to find you, so we have to move you before they do."

She's fast, wrapping her arms around his before he can do more than scowl about it, making it obnoxious to move. That's the problem with her, after all. He _tries_ to be nice, and she always winds up taking everything way too far.

"I-I have missed you, Elliot. I cried when you...went missing."

Elliot's cheeks flush, and he turns his face away. "There's no need for that."

"But-"

"Drop it, all right? I'm here now." _Sort of_.

God, how had Ada stood being in that place? Elliot's nose is already twitching by the time they reach the street and its blessed fresh air, with the two silent shadowy attendants of the carriage. _Rude_, he thinks to himself, but maybe it's prudent to wait until they're back at the mansion before they get reacquainted. "Here, I'll help you into the carriage."

"Allow me, Miss Ada."

It's a gloved hand that extends to her in the night, the flickering lantern held in the other barely enough to cast light over the pathway, let alone Vincent's form. He spares Elliot a glance-of course, it would go exactly as Leo had planned and plotted, no matter how it makes his gut twist at the reality of it, and how little Elliot himself knows.

How _does_ he stomach this, indeed.

"It's been some time, has it not?" More annoying still is that she's pretty-prett_ier_ if Vincent must qualify it, which seems nearly impossible considering where she's been kept for so long. Only Ada. Annoying woman.

Elliot frowns at the way Ada balks, clutching at his arm so hard he can barely feel his fingers. "Hey-what's your problem, he just-"

"Mr. Vincent..." Ada trails off into a whisper, green eyes huge, transfixed on the man. "I...Uncle Oscar told me..."

From the shadows, Gilbert curses silently. What does that idiot think he's _doing_, anyway? Things had been going according to plan, sickening as that might be.

"Ada, just get into the carriage and we can talk back at-"

"It's not true, is it?" the girl bursts out, as if it's something that's been on her mind for months. "I know what they say, but I want you to tell me it isn't true, that the Vincent I know wouldn't do all those things!"

Vincent is damnably glad for the dim light, because he isn't quite sure what his expressions does right then-if it's wry or if it softens or if he just looks put out. He withdraws his hand slightly, fingers curling back into his palm. "There are many lies that the Baskervilles have been feeding your uncle, Miss Ada," he murmurs. "After all, you were told that Elliot was dead, weren't you?"

Not for the first time since he's been brought back, Elliot has the sinking feeling there's a whole lot Leo hasn't seen fit to tell him. Not in the least is why Vincent's talking about the Baskervilles are a completely different set of people, rather than the ones Elliot's pretty damned sure include Leo, and had _thought_ included Vincent.

His master's orders pound in his ears, and he uses a bit of strength to hoist the confused girl up to the first step of the carriage. "Come on, we've got to get you off the street."

"But-then Vincent didn't kill Duke Nightray? I didn't _want_ to believe it, but Uncle Oscar said..."

Her voice trails into a squeak as she falls, suddenly unsupported by Elliot's arms as his thoughts swirl. "What...what did you just say?"

In the shadows, Gil puts out his cigarette, muttering, "Shit."

He always _has_ had to be the one to make the difficult decisions, hasn't he?

Vincent's fast, at least, gingerly grabbing Ada by the arm to-well, mostly catch her, before she can stumble too badly. She's heavy, damn it, though he bites his tongue and refrains from commenting on that. He sort of wants to knead his fingers into the soft, fleshy part of her arm that he's gripping, maybe snake his arm a bit more firmly about her waist and-_now is not the time, you're not sixteen anymore. _

"Your uncle," Vincent murmurs into her ear, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to gently thrust it into her grasp, "wanted me to give you this. I'll keep you safe, I just need you to trust me. Step away from the carriage for a moment, won't you? A little more fresh air won't hurt."

Elliot's pulse pounds in his ears as he tries to remember what Leo's told him, that Ada's been fed lies, that of _course_ Vincent hasn't killed his father, that's ridiculous, unthinkable.

It's a little easier, just a little, when he sees how quickly she relaxes, under just a few sweet words from Vincent, and god, Elliot has no idea why Leo didn't just send Vincent, he's always been good with girls.

He sees her calm, her chest heaving, and sees her dart a quick, nervous look to Elliot before stepping away with the older man. "I...is my uncle all right? He told me-I'm not supposed to go with any of the Nightrays, but...if you say I can still trust you..."

Vincent is going to regret this.

"Your uncle will be fine." It's not a _complete_ lie. Oscar is well enough, in spite of being tortured by Vincent's own hand, even. God, one look at the girl makes him twitch, recalling the months he put into courting her to no avail, and how desperately he wanted whatever information he could get from her. Without a doubt, he still wants it, because it's what _Leo_ wants now, too. It's what makes this so difficult-the drive to serve his master warring pointedly with that disappointed stare that Gilbert keeps fixating upon him-

His grip upon her loosens, just slightly. "You can trust me, but I think," he adds lowly, catching her gaze for the briefest of moments, "the last thing you want to do is pay a visit to Leo, and considering he and Elliot are joined at the hip…"

The fear rises in Ada's eyes, shock and terror mingling with the conviction that she'd _known_ she was right, that it was too good to be true, that of course Vincent couldn't really be in league with those people-

She sees her chance and takes it, slipping out of Vincent's hold, knowing with a warning like that and a handkerchief like that he _must_ be secretly working for her uncle after all, and she hits the pavement running.

Elliot, dumbfounded, barely has time to move before the shadow does, his eldest stepbrother's long legs catching the girl easily, sweeping her kicking, twisting form up into his arms and dumping her in the carriage without a word. Gil locks the door, jaw clenched tightly shut, and whips the horses into action almost before Elliot can grab hold of the side of the carriage, wondering what the _hell_ is going on.

There's something to be said about trying to disobey a direct order from one's true lord and master, Duke Baskerville.

_Well, it was worth a try._

At least, those are Vincent's thoughts at the next point that he comes to in a heap on a dusty, deserted road, the sounds of horses shrieking over the blood pounding in his ears, and every bone aching and hurting from what he can only assume was a rather rough landing. He doesn't quite _remember_ being snatched up by Jabberwock, but his back certainly feels the scrape of talons still, and it's with a grimace that he forces himself to his feet, not quite daring to look for Leo just yet, no matter how he knows his master is _there_.

"… My lord, we aren't even _home_ yet," he mutters, watching the horses rear at the sight of the enormous chain, and he tries not to feel sick. Perhaps that's the point. Being in the absolute middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, surrounded by people she's now rightfully terrified of-Vincent tries not to consider Ada's state of mind and instead attempts to gingerly dust himself off. "If you want to interrogate her, there are far better arrangements-"

It's easy to forget how strong Leo is, but not when the kid backhands him hard enough to send him stumbling back, head fully turned and lip split from the blow. "I think you've offered enough advice tonight, Vincent," Leo spits out, the only things really visible of him in the cover of night his face, that pale skin, his shaking hands, his sharp, nearly glowing gaze. "Keep your mouth shut for once."

Gil doesn't think before he moves-a dangerous habit, but not one he's ever been entirely able to break, not when someone he cares about is in harm's way. He doesn't even remember moving before his gun is out and cocked, pointed at the back of his master's head, hand steady on the trigger. "Leave him alone," he says quietly, moving forward just enough that Leo will feel the cold steel of the gun. "We have the girl, so leave him alone. _Master_."

He can feel Raven clamoring to get out, but shoves him back down. It's not the time to make Duke Baskerville kill him. Not today, anyway.

He hears a noise from the carriage, but he doesn't turn doesn't waver. He knows what he'll see, after all. It can hardly be anything other than Elliot, ashen-faced, betrayed, staring at all of them as if he's never seen them before.

Well, maybe he really hasn't.

"Gil-" Vincent hisses, stumbling to straighten himself once more, wiping at the corner of his mouth. He's not sure if he's happy Gil is so very defensive of him or not, but right now, from the hardening of Leo's gaze, he's mostly _scared._ "Gil, don't-" _Just let him hit me, if that's what he wants to do, _I'm _ the one that messed up-_

"If you don't put your gun away, Gilbert," Leo quietly interrupts, his head turning just slightly, pressing the back of his skull further against Gilbert's gun, "I will see to it that your _master_ dies before the sun has a chance to rise."

God, Gil has no idea what it would feel like to go through a single day without feeling like his heart is being torn in two. He wants to remember loyalty-true loyalty clean and pure and _right_, of having just one master and _believing _in him, but maybe those are a child's dreams. There's the screaming in his mind-the two of them he's sworn to protect, the third that owns him, and he can hardly breathe as he slowly lowers the gun.

It's just as well, because the next second he's knocked to the ground, looking up into Elliot's confused, furious face as the cool tip of a crystal sword rests at the base of his throat. "I don't know what the hell is going on," Elliot snarls, one knee on his chest to keep him down, "but if you ever point a gun at Leo again, it won't matter what your last name is, do you understand me?"

Vincent does his best not to wince at how smugly satisfied Leo looks, though it's difficult, especially when Leo's attention swings abruptly back to him. "Someone needs to go and watch the girl," Leo impassively says, and god, but Vincent knows he's the one that is expected to do it. It's with an exhale that he takes a step forward, his jaw still aching.

"My lord, I-"

"I told you to _be quiet!_" The next slap stings more than the first, landing across already bruised, aching flesh, but Vincent at least already has his heels planted in this time, expecting it and taking it with gritted teeth "What were you _thinking?!_ Do you want me to grant your damned wish or not? I'll kill you, leave your body to rot right here in the road, and Gilbert can stand out here until you're nothing but dust so the image of you is burned into his mind for the rest of his _life_ for all I care-"

Vincent finds himself grinding his teeth. "Duke Baskerville-"

"Elliot, point your sword at _him_ and make him do as I say," Leo suddenly snaps, his attention rapidly switching once more. "Let Gilbert up. He's an idiot; as if a bullet could kill me, anyway."

Elliot feels like his chest is too tight, everything taking on a terrifying, cruel reality he hasn't felt since the day of his death, and god, he'd thought he'd gotten _past_ the willful ignorance of a child, the desire to simply _not know_ something that hurts so badly. He hasn't, though. Should have asked, should have observed, should have _realized_ what it's meant for Leo to be a Baskerville, for all of them to be Baskervilles, and now it's far too late.

His master's will is absolute.

There are tears running down his cheeks, even as he sets his jaw, moving in a fluid arc to rest the edge of his sword across Vincent's throat. "Do as he says," he grinds out, eyes blazing electric blue as he shines with otherworldly light. "Duke Baskerville's word is law."

Even _Demios_ is pissed now, lurching about in his mind and intent on giving him a headache, and so Vincent merely draws a slow breath, lifting a hand towards Elliot's sword as if to push it away, even though he's not truly of the mind to _touch_ the thing.

"I'm going," he murmurs, taking a step back, and allowing a small, deferential bow of his head. "My apologies, my lord. I'll deal with the girl now."

Vincent can _see_ the gears churning, the way that Leo watches him like a damned hawk and how he's only seconds away from asking Elliot to actually hurt him if he doesn't move and move now. He quickly turns away, and Leo does so similarly, shooting Gilbert an exasperated stare.

"Are you _all_ intent on being stupid tonight? Get up, get back to the horses. Once we're back at the manor, see to it that your brother is _properly_ watching that girl or we'll be having words again." Finally, he looks to Elliot, weary. "Why are you _crying?_"

Gilbert doesn't say a word, just lurches up from the ground, stalking around to the back of the carriage, shoving Ada's face and wiggling torso back in through the too-small window she'd tried to climb out of. He doesn't look at her, doesn't look at Vincent, doesn't look at any of them. He lights up a cigarette, leaning heavily back against the carriage as Vincent approaches. "Sorry," he mutters, eyes fixed on the ground. "I made it worse."

He sure as hell doesn't look over at his Master, or at Elliot sheathing his sword, shaking his head as he says quietly, "I'm not crying. I'm just thinking about someone I used to know."

"Mm, I'm fairly certain it was about as bad as it could have been already," Vincent sighs, grimacing as he attempts to roll out one aching shoulder. "Miss Ada, _please_ refrain from trying to escape… the last place you want to do it, anyway, is in the middle of nowhere, and wearing those sorts of shoes… how do you expect to run?" he adds in a low mutter, sparing a brief glance over his shoulder at Leo before his gaze slides to Gilbert once more. "Thank you," he offers quietly, "for trying to protect me."

"What are you two waiting for?" And now Leo sounds even more intensely annoyed, and so Vincent sighs. So much for any sort of peace tonight—he truly has lost it, if he honestly ever expected it.

Sometimes, Gil doubts that he and Vincent have ever really escaped the streets of their childhood. They're still shunted from wealthy family to wealthy family, still tools for anyone to abuse, still, in the end, without anyone except each other. Everyone, one after the other, has left, turned on them, or died. The Nightrays, the Vessaliuses, the Baskervilles, Pandora-the only ones that had been honest were Pandora, because at least there he'd known from the start he was only supposed to be a tool.

It was easier, before he'd remembered his duty to Vincent.

Gil climbs into the driver's seat, yanking Vincent up with him as the carriage rattles into motion, carrying them back to what might as well be Sablier, for all the hope it offers. "Quit giving him reasons. It's not like when we were little, we can't just run away when I find our master with his hand down your pants."

Inside, Elliot can't look at anyone, not Leo, not Ada. He'd thought he was _helping_, that he was _saving_ her. No matter what's going on, he's pretty sure he's thoroughly disabused of that notion now, and before Leo can tell him not to, he melts into the ether, whisking himself back into Leo's shadow where he won't have to think about what he's truly become without realizing it.

"… You could hit me instead," is Vincent's mild retort as he leans to the side, dropping his head atop Gilbert's shoulder. In hindsight, such a comment is probably less than appropriate.

Gil snorts, trying to ignore the fact that it is at least comforting to have someone in hell with him, even if that's not something he wants on any conscious level. "You're not even making sense. Did he hit you harder than I thought?"

Regardless, at least it isn't as bad as it could have gone. He doesn't want to think about what might have happened if he'd been slower, if he hadn't been able to clean up Vincent's mess, if Ada-no, _the girl_-had gotten away and Duke Baskerville had found out about it.

He doesn't want to, but he does, and it preys on his mind the entire way back to the mansion.

"Get the girl settled in," Leo orders the moment the carriage rolls to a stop and he throws the door open, a little snort escaping him as he stalks his way out. "Perhaps she'll be a little more amicable to speaking in the morning."

Vincent doubts it, and tries not to think about how his face hurts and how he must _look._ "Yes, my lord."

Leo eyes him a last time before striding to the mansion in a swirl of his cloak, wearily, irritably sullen, obviously trying not to lash out and give Vincent another bruise to add to the mountain he's already acquired.

Given what he's already had to clean up today, Gil simply grabs Ada from the backseat, ignoring her kicking and protesting as he throws her over one shoulder. He doesn't need to ask where to put her. There aren't too many places secure enough for what Duke Baskerville wants, after all. "Could use the Dormouse," he grunts, hefting the girl into the mansion.

Elliot waits as long as he can, stewing, furious. He's found that if he tries, he can pick up something of his master's mental state, all the better to serve him, of course. The second there's something like relief, probably from being alone at last, he starts throwing himself at the walls of the ephemeral prison he's trapped in with the black-winged chains, battering at the barrier that keeps him from the real world. _I know you can hear me_, he snarls as loudly as he can without a voice. _Let. Me. Out!_

"Ah, that probably would have been useful from the beginning-" Vincent rather pseudo-cheerfully notes, and it's with an errant touch to Ada's head that the girl simply falls asleep moments later.

Leo tolerates it long enough to watch that what he orders is done with before scowling, stalking down the dark hallways with only a candle snatched up and held to light his way as he makes it to his own chambers. "You obviously have an opinion on all of this, White Knight," he mutters, setting the candle into its holder before yanking his cloak off.

The sound of his name-the chain name, the name Leo gave him, _not_ his real name-speaks to something, opens a hole in that barrier big enough to let Elliot through, exploding into being. He grabs Leo-no, _Duke Baskerville_-by the lapels, lifting him easily and shoving him back into the wall. His fists clench, and he _wants_ to do more, wants to deck the bastard across the face, wants to grab whatever's handy and throw it at his head, but he knows without a doubt that he can't. That will, that responsibility, weighs on him like a physical chain, and all he can do is talk.

"You-you lied to me! You lied to Ada! You said you were going to protect her, and you lied! You-how _dare_ you?"

"… To be fair," Leo dully replies, gaze lidded as he sinks back into the wall, making no attempt to remove himself from Elliot's hold, "there is no one left with the power to challenge the Baskervilles, so if she is going to be anywhere, this is the safest place to avoid any sort of _attack._ And if she answers my questions, I see no reason to harm her."

"You..." The anger makes Elliot's heart pound with blood that isn't even real, his hands clenching so tightly he feels his knuckles pop. "You used me. You told me she was going to be _safe_. You hid things-"

He can't bear even to look at that familiar, unsettlingly strange face. "What the hell else are you hiding from me, bastard?"

"I didn't hide anything. I didn't _lie._ She is safe, as long as she cooperates. Hopefully she'll have the sense to do it-though as you've always said, she isn't the… brightest individual." Leo's mouth twists briefly. "So I'm a 'bastard' now-do you hate me, Elliot? Everyone else does, I suppose it would make sense."

All the strength goes out of Elliot's arms, and all he can do is let Leo sag to the floor, turning away. His chest heaves, and he can't stop his muscles from bunching as he slams his fist through the wall, leaving a hole in the walls of his family's mansion. "You haven't hid anything from me? Where's my father, Leo? Where's Oz? Where's Ada's uncle? What are you trying to _do_? How can you be a Baskerville? Doesn't-doesn't it _bother_ you that you're working for those _murderers?_"

_It would have. It would have bothered the man I knew._

"What else was I suppose to _do?!"_

Lurching to his feet, Leo's hands clench at his sides, his chest heaving. "You were _gone_, Elliot! I had nothing left-absolutely nothing-and Vincent _saved me_ from Pandora, after all they wanted to do was-was hurt me and torment every answer out of me and keep me locked up in a cell! I don't _work_ for the Baskervilles, you idiot-I've told you, I _am_ Glen Baskerville! How do you think you're here?!"

"I don't know! I don't know what that means, why the fuck would you think I do? Glen Baskerville died a hundred years ago, you moron!"

There's a small table in the hall, and Elliot grabs it, hurling it at the floor until it smashes into so many twigs and powder. "You," he pants, pointing a finger at his master, "have no right. You have _no_ right to give up on life just because I died! Did you lose your damned mind? What...what _happened_ to you?" He staggers back until his back hits the wall, head tilting back with a dull _thunk_.

"… You've never known what it was like to be _alone._"

Leo's lip trembles and he sinks back into the wall opposite Elliot again. He doesn't have to explain that. He never has, and it's obvious Elliot doesn't want to hear it, anyway. "Glen Baskerville… isn't just one person. 'Glen' is the head of the Baskerville family, whoever is chosen by the Abyss to inherit that name. I was the next person. I've known that… for a long time. So did your father. And brothers. Or at least, they suspected, at first."

"My..." He can't ask again. The mansion is far, far too empty for there to be any other Nightrays still alive, and there's no way his father would have permitted Leo to take over.

He slides down to the floor, elbows resting on his knees, unable even to decide whether to put his fist through the wall again or just give up. "You never told me about your family. All those years, and you never told me you were a Baskerville. You...did you think I would hate you?"

At that, Leo laughs, the sound high, unhinged. "I figured if I didn't talk about it, it would _go away._ That all worked amazingly, obviously."

Slowly, he sinks down again, until his knees are drawn to his chest and his chin rests atop them. "No one wanted me, not even my own parents. No one stopped them from taking me away and putting me in the House of Fianna. You were the only person I ever _had_, Elliot-don't _tell me_ that I didn't have the right to _give up._"

"If you weren't my master," Elliot says bitterly, tiredly, "I'd punch you in the face. What are you, a maiden wasting away for her lover? I thought you had more sense than that."

He laughs, but there's no joy in it. "Thought you'd take more after Josephine and less after Phelia."

Leo's gaze jerks up, fixing a sharp glare on the other man. "I'll hit you if you don't shut up. What would you have rather me done, kill myself to join you? I thought about it. I tried to get Oz to kill me, once."

"You think I care if you hit me?" Elliot crawls over to the other man, turning his head defiantly to the side. "Hit me. Go ahead. You think it's worse than seeing you destroying yourself, turning into a murderer? What the hell did you think dying was going to fix, huh? What happened to all the things we were going to do when we got older?"

"… The only person I've murdered is you, Elliot," Leo tiredly replies, looking away with a shake of his head. "All I am trying to do is _fix things._ Jack Vessalius was the one that ruined everything, not Glen Baskerville."

Elliot's hand slams into the wall next to Leo's head, face twisting in fury. "No! You're _not_ taking credit for my death! What do you think I was, some kind of helpless victim? I _murdered_ people, Leo! I did! And I fixed it, as good as I could, and it killed me, and that's fine, and you're _not damned taking that away from me, bastard!"_

Leo doesn't as much as flinch, and he stares up tiredly through his bangs. "Why do you think you were contracted to that chain in the first place?"

"Because I wanted to save some dying kids, and the Baskervilles tricked you." Elliot's shoulders sag, but he reaches forward, brushing Leo's hair out of his face, forcing him to look up. "How can you be one of them when they're the ones that did this?"

Slowly, Leo shakes his head. "You're wrong. They didn't trick me. I wanted to save you, and instead I killed you by making you contract that… thing." He sucks in a ragged breath, swallowing hard. "I already told you… the Baskervilles did nothing wrong. Jack… he's the one that brought about the Tragedy of Sablier."

Elliot draws back a hand to smack Leo across the top of the head, but the damn contract won't let him. He hates how stupid that looks, his hand just hanging there, and whacks it against the wall again instead. "You're an idiot. If you hadn't made that contract I'd have died in that hole. I'm not saying it was right, but I'd have died either way."

He sinks down to the floor, poking at Leo's chest. "Start talking. I'm listening. Just don't blame yourself for my death or I'll disappear again."

_You should have never been in that hole in the first place. You shouldn't have been there around me, near me-_

"… Jack was obsessed with my predecessor's sister. When she was sent to the Abyss… he lost it, and became set on 'bringing the world to her'… that's what caused the Tragedy of Sablier, and why he tried to make the Abyss swallow up everything." With a sigh, Leo tips his head back, leaning it back into the wall behind him. "The previous Glen tried to stop him. Jack wants to finish his work now… and so I have him held at the bottom of Pandora, sealed within Oz."

Elliot blinks, his eyebrows climbing higher with every word. "That's...pretty different from the story we've always heard." Still, it's better than anything he's heard tonight, and he relaxes down onto his knees. A little smile curls his mouth, and he murmurs, "So you're trying to save the world, huh? Pretty big stuff for someone who says he has nothing to live for."

Leo's mouth twists into a frown. "I was-look, I had no choice, it was for the Baskerville family. They're… it's just something I had to do, all right? It's… my duty, as Duke Baskerville."

Elliot exhales a big breath, twisting around to let his head flop down onto Leo's shoulder. "Okay, but why are you being such a bastard about all of it? Kidnapping girls, beating up my brothers? You weren't acting like you at all."

"Do you have any idea what is at stake here?" Leo heaves a sigh, his frown deepening as he casts Elliot a sidelong glance. "Just because the Baskervilles are trying to make it right doesn't mean anyone believes it. There's no way to really prove it, either, when they won't listen… other than to get things done and let them figure it out that way. Ada has no desire to help us for that reason, though I'm sure that she's the Vessalius key. Vincent is an idiot, and jeopardizing everything just because he has some _thing_ for that woman. Gilbert is just crazy. Sometimes, there's nothing I can do but scream at them until they remember what they're supposed to do."

"I'm not saying they don't deserve a beating," Elliot mutters, thinking of a few he's dealt out himself. "I'm just saying..."

He huffs out a breath, head thunking back against the wall as his arm comes around Leo's shoulder. "Stop being so crazy, huh? And _don't_ lie to me again, I can't protect you if I don't know what I'm trying to protect you from, and _who_ I'm trying to protect you from. Vincent, Gilbert-do I have to worry about them trying to kill you? I mean, obviously I can handle them, but..."

Leo chews at his lower lip, worrying it until he nearly bleeds before slowly leaning into Elliot's side. "… They won't kill me. They both want too much from me. It's not like they really _can_, anyway…" He sighs, shutting his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I just-you weren't going to help us lure Ada out if you knew how she was going to react."

Elliot tightens his arm, somehow feeling as if he can keep Leo safe, even from himself, if he just holds him tight enough. "I'm sorry too. Well, okay, I would be sorry if I'd done what I wanted to and punched you in the face, and I'm kind of sorry I didn't, because I still think you can use it."

"Oz punched me in the face for you, a couple of years ago," Leo tiredly offers, turning his head to the side to finally bury his face into the side of Elliot's neck. "Does that count?"

That sobers Elliot, and he sighs, tightening his arms. He brushes a kiss to the top of Leo's head, smiling into his hair. "As long as you didn't let him do anything else to you for me."

"… Like _what?_" Leo snorts, curling himself closer as he starts to slowly relax. "I don't even like it when someone helps me get dressed, you know. No one else needs to touch me."

"Except Vincent," Elliot grumbles, suddenly feeling a lot less bad about pointing his sword at his adopted brother earlier. "You're not still letting him dress you, are you? I said you can call me out for that in the mornings, I was always better at the buttons than you."

Leo lifts his head, a sort of flustered irritation washing over his features. "I'm-I never let him dress me, really. The most I let him do was tie things, I-and I'm not calling you out so you can put my clothes on for me, that's just… weird."

"You call me so I can take them off of you," Elliot murmurs, nuzzling into Leo's hair. "Hey...I don't like the idea of Ada being left all alone all night. What do you need from her, exactly? Maybe now that I know what's going on, I can actually help you. Like I could have in the first place, you know."

"Let Vincent wheedle at her, I don't want to look at her right now," Leo mumbles. "We need the chain the Vessalius family stole from us, and she's the only person-thing-whatever-left that could be the key to their gate. She's not going to give in easily. In fact, I wonder if she even _knows_ what she is."

Elliot doesn't want to ask-in fact, it's just about the _last_ thing he wants to do-but he has to, has to get it all out in the open once and for all. "All right, tell me. Whatever it is you don't want her to tell me, get it over with. The bad things I missed, the ones that make Gilbert and Vincent give each other those stupid looks when I say something, I don't want to find out stuff I should already know from Ada Vessalius of all people."

"… You're not allowed to go storming down the hallway and kill people if I tell you," is the warning in response.

"I knew there was something," Elliot mutters, reflecting on how lovely it would have been to be wrong. "Whatever you say, Master. Not like I can when you've got my leash, right?"

_You're going to hate me for this. And him, too._

"… Humpty Dumpty mimicked the Headhunter, remember?" Leo wearily begins, straightening a bit and lifting a hand to undo the collar of his jacket, and exhaling slowly at the extra bit of freedom. "But you could never figure out who it was."

"Right, the Queen of Hearts, but...that doesn't matter, right? I'm the one-_Humpty Dumpty_ was the one that killed my family." Everything feels more distant, now that he's a chain. Or maybe he's simply aware of the passage of time, even when he'd been in the Abyss. "Are you saying you know who the real Headhunter was?"

"The Queen of Hearts wasn't the real name of the chain. Its real name is Demios." Leo sighs. "Vincent is its contractor. He killed Fred. After you died, he killed your father… who knew about everything that happened to you, and let it keep happening."

Rather abruptly, Elliot rethinks the fact that he feels some safe distance from the events of the past. The words echo in his head, stripping away what he'd thought he knew, replacing it with things more horrible than he'd ever wanted to consider, and god, he's a _Nightray_, he's not going to break down about this. He hopes his arms just tighten around Leo, trusting to the power of his binding to keep him from hurting his master when his mind is racing, churning with the idea of Vincent killing his brother, his father, being the Headhunter-

-that his father had known, and not done a thing.

It's a half-hysterical little laugh that comes from his throat, and he's only proud that his eyes are dry. "Maybe it's good, everything that happened. Do you know...I was so proud of my family, once."

He cuts himself off, burying his face into Leo's hair.

For not the first time, Leo is intensely glad that he's never told Elliot anything _else_ about his family, and how they had treated _him._

"… I'm sorry." He's not, really-not that they're dead, or that Elliot _knows_ at least a fraction about what his family has done, but he is sorry, at least, that Elliot has to hurt because of it. Frankly, he'd kill them all again just for that crime alone. "All of this happening… it's not your fault, and-you know, the Nightrays, it's still fact that they used to be the closest to the Baskerville family." He's babbling now, and it's stupid. "I'd… like to think, that you, at least, are a good example… of what they're supposed to be like."

Actually, Leo is pretty sure he's awful at this comforting business.

"It doesn't matter anymore."

The statement is true, bleak, and Elliot gives a little shrug of his shoulders, trying to look more unburdened by that than he is. "There are no Nightrays anymore. And everything I thought they were, they were only pretending to be. I..."

He swallows hard, hands clenching, unclenching. "There's something I haven't told you. The reason-the reason Humpty Dumpty-the reason I killed my siblings, and my mother."

God, the shame of it is going to kill him. "I remembered right before I died. They...they were going to kill you, Leo. I'm-I'm so sorry, I don't know why, I don't know what was _wrong_ with them, I never knew I was bringing you into something like this when I took you out of Sablier-"

"I knew-that they wanted me dead, at any rate," Leo quickly amends. _And also, what you were bringing me into, but what I did was far worse. _He gives a shrug of dismissal. "It doesn't matter. I didn't care what they did, I just… I wanted to stay with you, no matter how selfish that was of me by the end of it."

"At least you made it out." It's not so small a thing to be grateful for, really. "At least I was able to keep you safe while I was alive." He hesitates, and his cheeks are pink when he mutters, "If I...could just leave one thing behind to remember me by, I would have chosen you anyway."

"I think your music would have paid you more homage," Leo mumbles, exhaling a short, faintly self-conscious breath. "Elliot-you don't know the half of what you did for me. Just… don't ever think that any of this is your fault. If I'm not allowed to feel fault for your death, then…"

"But my music _is_ for you. The only songs I ever wrote, I wrote for you."

That flush is back in his cheeks, and he looks away, embarrassed, even though it's far better to feel embarrassed about being a lovesick fool than to think about how his family had been traitors, even to each other, in the end. "I don't know what I'd have done if I didn't have the chain, all right? But...I wouldn't have let them hurt you. I know they were my family, but-"

It hurts, to remember Ernest's smiling face, the way Claude had showed him how to drive a carriage, Fred's hands on his teaching him how to load a pistol, Vanessa's secret laugh when he caught her sneaking her boyfriend into her room, his mother's cool hand on his forehead when he was sick.

Now, his hand tightens on Leo's, fumbling for it and squeezing. "You're the family I chose."

"… I'm really sorry."

Leo's never been that _much_ of a crier before all of this mess started two years ago. Now, his eyes hurt as he squints, blinks hard to keep back tears, and his throat is already tight and sore as his fingers squeeze hard back around Elliot's. "I'm a pretty awful replacement, you know; and-you having to come back to all of this, me lying to you and hiding things from you, j-just like they did-I'm really… not much better…"

Elliot tilts Leo's face up, meeting his eyes, brushing away his tears. "Shut up, would you? I came back from the dead to protect you. I don't do that for just anyone, so if you respect my judgment, you must really be something special."

"You're stupid," Leo whispers, even as he sniffles and leans his face into Elliot's touch, nuzzling into the palm of his hand. "Really stupid. It's why you didn't get into Lutwidge the first time. Having a _street kid_ tutor you, what wires are crossed in your head?"

A spark of that old rebellion flares in Elliot, even if it's a lot more fond, less angry. "Yeah, well, what kind of _Duke_ only comes up to his servant's shoulder, huh? How do you even get around on those little legs?"

Leo scowls, though it comes out as more of a pout, with the way his lower lip juts. "Our leg length isn't that much different! It's not my fault you have _shoulders_ like that."

Elliot demonstrates some of the size difference by simply picking Leo up and plopping him down in his lap. "It's good," he murmurs, nuzzling at Leo's hair from the perfect vantage point. "This way you fit right here, and I can protect you all the better if you're in my arms."

"… Real Nightrays are supposed to be tall, anyway," Leo agrees, sinking back into Elliot hold with a quiet, pleased sound. "This way-" _I can stand behind you, and not have to deal with people as much. Why can't I go back to hiding in libraries?_ "… is a lot better."

"Perfect. I can protect you better this way than I could in life, anyway." Elliot pauses, then adds, "Thank you, by the way. For bringing me back like this. I'm glad you didn't make me into some kind of ferocious monster like Jabberwock. Then it would have been really awkward to do this."

He leans down, brushing a soft kiss over Leo's lips.

Leo makes a face, deliberately biting Elliot's lower lip before he pulls away. "The other option was a cat. You know, like a house cat? Or maybe just a kitten, then I could roll you over and play with your paws and you couldn't do anything about it."

Elliot's face is a study in aghast disbelief, flinching back at the idea. "You're a very cruel master. If anyone's a cat, it's you, all claws and teeth and slyness and always pretending not to like anyone."

The expression Leo casts up at him is nothing but innocence. "The last part is a lie, at least. I only like you."

"Good. I don't like sharing." Elliot gives Leo's ear a sharp nip with his teeth, then tugs on it. "But if you want to go take a little rest, you're welcome to claw me as much as you want."

"Masochist," Leo sighs out, the word nearly a purr as he wriggles forward, arching an eyebrow. "It doesn't seem seemly, though, to scratch you up when you're wearing all this white. What if it bled through?"

"Don't worry, master, that's easily enough solved." Elliot traces a hand through Leo's hair, down to his neck to tug on the end of his tie. "I can always take my clothes off. You know, if it'll be more seemly for you."

"But that also takes _effort._" Leo's tongue sticks out a bit in concentration as his fingers absently toy with Elliot's lapels, methodically unfastening his coat. "Perhaps I'll just have to be careful with how much I claw into you."

Elliot's hands come up to close over Leo's, holding them still for a moment. "Before...just before, is there anything else? Anything you want to tell me that you never could? I don't want any more secrets, so when we're done, let's be done, all right?"

_Ugh._

If there's any good way to turn him off in an instant, it's thinking about _that_, no matter how Leo struggles to keep the reaction at bay and how he tries to keep his mind from going there. "There's nothing else." Hopefully, Elliot can't tell how he's lying through his teeth.

Elliot grimaces to himself at how obvious Leo is, voice gone flat, body tensing, all desire in him suddenly quelled. He frowns, twisting around so he can meet those dark, intriguing eyes, asking softly, "Is it something I did? Is it too late to fix?"

The urge to roll his eyes is too great to resist. "Elliot, you've never done _anything_. I… look, there's nothing," Leo dismisses, wriggling himself away to climb to his feet. "Forget it, okay? It's late, and I'm just tired."

Ugh, he's done it again, hit on The Thing that they don't talk about, have never talked about. He sighs, following Leo to his feet, adjusting his clothes back into place just in case they run into his adoptive brothers on their way back to Leo's chambers. "Someday," he says slowly, trying to sound as un-demanding as possible, "you're going to tell me. I've believed that since the first time I wondered who he was, and if you really loved him."

Leo tries not to gag. "It's not a _he_ nor does it involve _love_ at all," he mutters, damned near kicking the door open to walk inside. "It isn't _anything._"

Elliot catches the door before it can back against the walls and back at them, striding easily after his master with the grace of long limbs. "Yeah, if you say so. I've been waiting for years, I can keep waiting." _We both know about all the stuff you couldn't have learned from your precious books, but that you never, ever told me about, or anyone as far as I could tell. _"Someday's good enough for me."

God, but he's tired of this. "Everything always has to be so _romantic_ to you," Leo exasperatedly tosses over his shoulder, yanking at the buttons and fastenings of his own jacket before throwing it over the nearest chair. "Here's a starting point. Do you know how street kids make money?"

Elliot's chest tightens, and he reaches out, grabbing Leo's shoulder and spinning him back around. "Hey," he growls, so close to him that he can feel Leo's breath on his face, "you told me _years_ ago that you'd tell me if anyone hurt you."

"Glad to know you aren't _so_ naive, though I'm guessing it's because I have a half-way decent looking face, which sort of seals the deal," Leo mildly retorts, lifting a hand to gently push Elliot's hand away. "_That_ was before I met you. There's no point in talking about it. At least I kept food on the proverbial table, and no one really _hurt _me." _Not then, at least._

Elliot falls silent. It's the kind of thing he's heard about a hundred times, either from casual remarks from his brothers or in books, but that doesn't make it any less startling. Different times, memories, play themselves out in his head, reminding him far too much of what he'd believed he was saving Leo from, his violent rages, his reluctance to be picked up by a noble...

Ah.

He swallows hard, wishing his new clothing had pockets that he could jam his hands into. "Is that what you thought I was? When we met?"

"… At first," Leo allows, his tone wry. "You proved me wrong after awhile. It was sort of refreshing."

"What do you mean, after a while? I'm not the one who-I mean-you came on to me, you know." It casts their first meeting into a whole other light, the way Leo had snapped at him, avoided him, and snarled at anyone who got close, tried to cut his hair, or touched him, and that makes his heart sink. If there was one thing he'd thought inviolate, it was the memories he'd had of Leo, the ones they'd made together. "I didn't-when we first-were you afraid of me?"

"I've never been afraid of you, Elliot." He sighs, reaching out a hand to gently catch Elliot by the front of his coat, tugging him in close. "Annoyed, but not afraid. Mostly, I wanted you to leave me alone… but in the end, I'm glad you didn't."

Elliot's arms come around Leo as if on reflex, hand fisting in that soft dark hair, holding him tightly enough as if he could erase all the things that had happened even before they'd met. "Good. And now you don't really have a choice. I can't leave you alone, and it's your own fault for summoning me."

"… I'm okay with this, actually," Leo murmurs, sagging forward to nuzzle into Elliot's arms. "You make an awfully good pillow, at least. I'll keep you around for that, if nothing else." _Thank god you're not asking about anything else._

Elliot chuckles, tightening his grip, placing soft kisses on Leo's hair. "Only _you_ would summon a chain for the purpose of sleeping on him, _Master_. Then again, I can't really see you doing that for the black-winged ones, so I suppose that's just as well."

He hesitates, so tempted to just pretend that this is all, that Leo really is the sort of person to tell anyone, even Elliot, everything he's hiding. In the end, he sighs. _It probably won't help, anyway. And if anyone else ever hurts him..._ "At least I can show you that not all nobles are...well, you know. Not that I suppose I'm a noble anymore."

"You're a noble, trust me," Leo laughs, giving him a light shove back towards the bed. "Even as a chain, you're a noble. It's in the way you hold yourself, you know; you're… _prissy._"

Elliot sprawls backwards, raising up on his elbows to glower, though with the way Leo's looking at him, he rather doubts it comes across as anything other than _hungry_. "I thought you'd be more interested in how I hold _you_ rather than myself. And wouldn't a _prissy_ noble object to the kinds of things a pervert like you enjoys?"

"Nobles are all the same," is Leo's airy response, and only a moment later he's on the bed, legs swung to either side of Elliot's hips. "You're all repressed perverts yourself. It's even better if you're prissy; you just like it when I mess you up a bit more."

"You seem to know an awful lot about what nobles are like in bed," Elliot challenges, grinding his hips up against Leo's, feeling himself start to harden under the contact. "For someone who talks so big, you sure always seem to like it when I'm the one messing you up." One of his hands trails down Leo's chest, belly, and rubs down between his legs, cupping and squeezing. "Are you going to mess me up this time, master?"

"You _do_ seem to be fond of the idea," Leo sighs out as he leans down, his hips canting forward into Elliot's touch as he nuzzles into the side of the other man's neck, nipping, gently sucking. "Just what would you think… of being leashed up to this bed, collared like a proper pet?"

What little shreds are left of Elliot's old pride make him flush indignantly, stammering even as his hips twitch, cock grinding hard against Leo's ass, as he leans into the touches of his mouth, and he groans, hands sliding down to pluck at the hem of Leo's shirt. "If...if my master wants to chain me..."

Leo sighs as he arches his back, deliberately grinding down against the hard line of Elliot's cock, rubbing his ass along every inch of it. "Look at you, you're already wound up like this." And then, with a little hum, Leo pointedly wriggles his way away, rolling to the side to rummage beneath a pillow. "I kept that leash of yours here somewhere… ah, here we go. Scoot up towards the headboard," he idly orders, twirling the leather about his fingers. "I'll take good care of you."

"You always do." Elliot scrambles to do as he's told, tossing his jacket to the side as he scoots upward, trying not to look quite as eager as he feels. It's too good to see that light in Leo's eyes after the night they've had, and the sweet curve of his ass doesn't hurt the way he feels either. He submits his neck, holding Leo's eyes, willing him to _realize_ what this means for him. "You'll let me take care of you too?"

"… You won't have it any other way, will you?" Leo murmurs, slender fingers ghosting along the elegant stretch of Elliot's neck before the collar buckles into place, and the leash quickly follows, looped up and through a notch in the headboard. A long, lean leg is promptly thrown over Elliot's chest, and Leo reaches down, a hand dragging its way through Elliot's hair. "I'm sure I can think of a few ways for you to properly _take care of me._"

Elliot lets his mouth spread in a slow smile, rubbing his head against Leo's slender fingers. "It's my duty to care for my master," he murmurs, and god, he's so hard now it hurts. It's rare that Leo gets so demanding like this, but not unheard-of, and he's never walked away from the experience feeling less that totally, completely sated. His chest heaves, hands coming up to rub up and down Leo's back, pulling him closer, if anything. "Command me, master."

As if Leo could do anything _but_ when Elliot is being so damnably obedient, and so very eager about it, to boot. Leo swallows thickly, his hands dragging away to pry open the fly of his own trousers, his own cock so hard that it hurts pulling himself free. "Open your mouth," he rasps, scooting forward a bit more, his other hand cupping Elliot's jaw and his thumb dragging over his lower lip. Leo's teeth sink into his own lip as his hips jerk involuntarily within his hand, his thumb rubbing over a bead of precome-all because of how soft Elliot's lips are, because of how he can imagine how it'll feel to have them wrapped around his cock. "When you look like this… you're asking for it, you know."

There's no stopping the flush of shame-that he, a noble, a _Nightray_, is letting a lowly-born servant talk to him like this, order him around, straddle his chest and rub his sticky cock against his lips-

Elliot can't help flicking his tongue out to taste, groaning low in his throat as he does, and god, it's been _years_. He nods shortly, whispering, "I know," before straining up against the collar and Leo's hand, sliding his lips over the head of Leo's cock, dragging his tongue over the tip. He can still remember the first time he'd done this, how humiliated he was, how that had only made him harder, and god, it's no different now.

God, but Leo can't help but groan, his knees setting themselves further up for leverage as he leans forward, one hand loosely fisting against the headboard. Elliot's mouth is slick, _hot_ around him, and his breath escapes as a hot, ragged little exhale as his hips jerk forward on their own accord, sliding further down over Elliot's tongue. "You really… like this, don't you? I bet you just want to grab me right now, shove me in as deep as I can go."

Elliot _does_. He wants that, wants his mouth to be full of nothing but Leo, tasting him, feeling his lips stretch wide around him, feeling him slide across his tongue to the back of his throat, and he can't help but moan around the cock in his mouth, straining to lean up, to take more, even though he knows he's still awful at this and still gags, unlike Leo. Regardless, his hands slide down to grab Leo's ass, pulling him forward, dragging him closer as Elliot licks and sucks, looking up into his master's eyes with needy, pleading noises.

"Good," Leo hears himself gasp, far before he realizes he's fisting one hand into Elliot's hair, the other against the headboard for leverage as he follows Elliot's pull with a jerk of his hips, pressing his cock as deeply down Elliot's throat as he can. It's obscene, actually, how good it feels when Elliot chokes and gags, just enough that his throat tightens around his cock, that his tongue pushes up against him, and Leo shudders, shoving forward again, fucking Elliot's mouth with short, demanding snaps of his hips. "Some noble you are," he pants out. "Reduced to this-nothing but a whore for your servant's cock."

Elliot's whole body shudders at the words, cruel, demeaning, and he nearly spills himself at the sound of them alone. Tears run down his cheeks, a reflex from the way Leo's fucking his mouth, driving hard and fast into his throat as Elliot tries to make it good, tries to take care of his master as he'd said he would, tries to keep his tongue moving when all he can focus on is the sinful, degrading way he's playing the harlot.

His hand tightens, pulling Leo even closer, other hand stealing down between his legs, and the touch is so necessary, so _needed_ when he's so hard that it's all it takes, a strangled cry forcing its way out of his mouth around Leo's cock as he comes with the barest touch, still in his trousers.

"Now that," is the panting, breathless purr that slides from Leo's lips as he pulls back, his cock so desperately, achingly hard that it's torture to do so, "was rather uncalled for." His fingers drag over the length of his cock, swift and almost too-rough, enough to make him suck in a harsh breath, his eyes briefly fluttering. "You should have known better-Elliot-_god_-"

That's all it takes for him to come, spilling over Elliot's cheeks, dripping down to his lips as Leo strokes himself throughout, chest heaving as he sags forward, his nails scratching into the headboard for purchase. "I'd say… this was punishment," he pants out, "but you probably get off on this, too."

Elliot lets out a soft moan, straining against the collar to lean up, trying to drag his tongue against the dripping head of Leo's cock, flicking it against his lips, hungry for a taste. He knows his face must be stained red under the mess Leo's left on him, and his hips twitch up against his hand just at the thought of it. "I..." He groans, helpless, letting his eyes close as his head falls back, still shuddering. "I'm sorry, master."

"You're really a mess," Leo sighs at him as he slowly catches his own breath, pushing back in order to lean down, licking a hot stripe up one stained, messy cheek. "If you hadn't come all over yourself like that, maybe you could have come inside me. I _know_ how much you like that-having me wiggle my way down your cock, your hands grabbing me, pulling me down-"

"I thought you wanted to mess me up." The words come out as hardly more than a whisper, even as Elliot leans up, trying to catch Leo for a kiss, another taste. "But the day I can't get hard to satisfy you, I won't belong in your bed."

He grinds his hand down over himself, hips rolling slowly even at the idea of what they've done, at how good it is still. He's a mess, he's sure, and the thought makes him as ashamed as it does aroused, though... "It's easier, now," he confesses quietly. "I can't bring honor to my family anyway. I really am...just here for you to use," he ends on a low moan, hips jutting up against his hand. "Master."

Just there for him to use-god, when has Leo ever had someone like that? The thought makes his own cock twitch, his own body move quickly, squirming free of clinging clothing, all before twisting around, smacking Elliot's hand away and fumbling with the fastenings of his trousers. "Grab the oil, then; it's just under the pillow to your right," he nearly pants out, no matter how he tries to keep his voice low, calm, far more in control than he feels when all his mind can think about is _Elliot_, and how good he always feels inside of him.

Elliot does as he's told, fumbling under the pillow with a wet hand, handing the bottle up as an offering. "Gonna need more soon," he observes, noting the little splash of liquid in the bottom. "You should-send Vincent out to get it."

God, it's not going to take him long to be of _use_ to Leo again, not like this, with Leo wriggling around on top of him, pulling out his half-hard, sticky cock. His legs spread, and his other hand goes to Leo's ass, squeezing, stroking, wondering how the hell he got lucky enough to come back to _this_.

"You think he'd actually feel shame in that?" Leo breathlessly laughs, grabbing for the bottle, his hand slick and dripping by the time it reaches back and bats Elliot's away. He groans at the feel of Elliot's cock in his grasp, hard and jerking up into his touch as he drags his oil-slick palm up the length of it, squeezing and stroking. "Look how hard you already are," he taunts, arching his back, rubbing his ass up and down Elliot's cock. "You want to be inside of me that badly?"

"Yes, god, yes," Elliot groans, hips jutting up to rub his cock along all the skin he can reach. There's no such thing as control, as _manners_, when he's this ready, this hungry for Leo, and if it weren't for the collar lashing him to the headboard, he'd already have dumped Leo on the bed and flipped him over. "Let me, please, I need-" He swallows hard, the words sticking in his throat, hands shaking as they reach up to Leo's hips.

"Say it," Leo pants out, his fingers wrapping tightly around Elliot's cock as he wriggles back, letting the head press against him, rubbing against his hole. "T-tell me-_god_-" A moan wrings its way from Leo's throat as the head of Elliot's cock pops inside, stretching him that wide already, making his thighs tremble and his entire body ache from the urge to just sink down every slick inch of him. "Tell me what you n-need-"

Every last bit of control Elliot's ever had over himself goes to behaving now, to not just thrusting up into the tight heat engulfing the head of his cock, to not use his hands and simply _yank_ Leo down until he's flush against the smaller man's body. Honestly, it feels so beyond anything he's capable of it might well be Leo's will stopping him, rather than any willpower of his own. His breath hitches, hands gripping Leo's hips so tightly they'll leave ten perfect bruises, and he can barely choke out the words, "P-please, master, I need to-I need to be inside you, I can't-_please_!" _I'm going to die._

It's to the point that even Leo isn't sure he could have stopped himself, even if Elliot had refused to beg and plead, because god does it feel good when he finally gives in, sinking down with a broken, desperate groan, lips parted as he pants towards the ceiling as every hard, thick inch of Elliot fills him, stretches him wide and leaves him simply trembling atop him for a moment, too full to even _think._

"God-_god_, Elliot, I-" Leo's voice breaks on a little whine as he moves, his body sagging forward as his hands plant atop Elliot's chest. He bites his lip as he arches up, thighs trembling from the strain, his own cock so distractingly hard as he leaks over Elliot's stomach. "Wish you could… see how it looks," he pants out, grabbing hold of one of Elliot's hands as he squirms his way down the man's cock. "Instead, just-" Insistently, Leo guides Elliot's hand to where they're connected, the obscene stretch of his hole around him, the way it spreads Leo so wide that it _hurts_. "Feel it."

Elliot's mouth falls open, groaning deep in his throat as his cock jumps under his own touch, full and thick and stretching Leo wide. His fingertips ghost over the hot slick ring spread around him, and he has to bite his lip hard so he doesn't embarrass himself by finishing already, _god_, his stamina is _nothing_ tonight, always the case whenever Leo takes control like this. "You're so full," he whispers, fingers pressing, wiggling against that stretch, one of them worming its way inside along with his cock, just to hear his master squeal.

It's already tight, already on the verge of pain it's so good, and Elliot's hips roll up with every breath he takes meeting Leo's slide downward, wriggling another finger inside him where he's already so, so full. His eyes flick up to Leo's, catching sight of that same lust, that same loss, that same _need_ that's in his own, and all he can do is strain against the collar, trying always, always for _more_. "L-Leo..."

It's too much.

_Far_ too much, and for a moment, all Leo can manage is a high, desperate little noise, somewhere around a keen and a whine as he arches his back, rocking down against Elliot's cock, Elliot's fingers, all stretching him so wide that he can't breathe, can barely even keep himself together as tears prick into his eyes with each slick, heated slide, muscles drawn so tight that he can feel every throb and twitch of Elliot's cock inside of him. "Want to feel you come inside me this time," he groans, his hips shoving down harder, eyes rolling into the back of his head as it strikes just _right_, and leaves him tense, quivering, clawing against Elliot's chest as he _writhes. _"Please, please, _please_-"

The realization hits that it _has_ been Leo's will holding Elliot on, keeping him sane, because the second he has that precious permission he's lost, hips snapping up so hard he has to move his hand, bringing it to Leo's other hip, using it as yet more leverage to get deeper, farther, to take him harder, burying himself until he can't even _think_.

He lunges up, straining so hard against the leash that it cuts off his air, but that's a problem for _later_ when he's so deep, coming so hard he sees white spots in front of his eyes, slamming in so hard he knows he has to be hurting Leo, so far gone he knows he can't even _stop_, and it's with a mindless, pathetic groan that he collapses back to the bed, twitching, boneless, gasping huge breaths of long-overdue air.

It does hurt, and Leo loves it.

Everything aches and stings and feels overused, overworked, every single muscle in his own body a useless, trembling mess as he feels Elliot inside him, slick and hot and so deep. It takes little more than that-the sensation of Elliot spilling inside of him, leaving him used and _full of him_, and Leo comes with a shuddering, desperate groan, spilling himself over Elliot's stomach and chest without a single touch to his own cock, his own body sagging down and barely kept upright by uselessly shaking arms.

Elliot's breath huffs out into the silence as his arms come up, steadying Leo, gathering him close to his chest and burying his face in that soft dark hair. "I hope," he says raggedly, voice hoarse, "I was...some use to you, master."

"God, when aren't you?" Leo groans out, somehow having the presence of mind to reach up and unbuckle Elliot's collar before fully collapsing into his chest with a tremulous sigh. "Stop being so perfect, it hurts."

Elliot uses his new gasp of breath to laugh, arms tightening around Leo, and god, he can't stop laughing. It's probably the first time he has since coming back from the Abyss, and damned if it doesn't feel good. "If anything hurts, I _doubt_ it's something stupid like that."

"More like every inch of me," is the agreement on a sigh, and Leo grimaces as he slowly wriggles his way off of Elliot's cock, settling more comfortably no matter how sticky and sweat-drenched he feels. "I'm keeping you," he sleepily declares.

Elliot turns his head, pressing a kiss to Leo's eyebrow, then his cheek. "Good. Because you don't have a choice."


	6. Chapter 6

It's a good thing Ada's such a girl.

That's about the only good thing Gil can think about the situation, because no matter how cracked Vincent is, no matter how broken Leo is, the two of them certainly wouldn't torture a helpless maiden. He's _sure_ of it.

Well, _mostly_ sure.

It's for this reason, of course, that he can't leave them alone. He paces, smoking one cigarette after another, his eyes fixed on Vincent and avoiding Ada at every opportunity.

It's harder to avoid her when she speaks to him.

"Gil...Gil please, I'm sorry if I said something that made you angry." There are tears in her voice. There are probably tears on her face too, but he still can't look at her. "If you would just let me go find my uncle, I promise I won't be any bother to any of you any longer. I-I want to make things right between the Nightrays and the Vesallius, just like my brother said years ago! You remember, right, Gil?"

Of course he does. It's only the things he forgets about Oz that make his heart clench.

Vincent finds it incredibly difficult not to bang his head into the wall.

Certainly, that's what it feels like he has been doing for the past hour. Ever since Gilbert had decided that he 'couldn't leave them alone', Ada has closed up as tight as can be, and not uttered a single useful word. She's far too focused on pleading with Gil, as if that'll really do something, and Vincent merely finds himself more and more frustrated.

"… A word, brother," he finally says, briefly rubbing a hand over the bridge of his nose, and he flashes Ada a brilliant smile. "I'll just be a moment, Miss Ada," he gently offers as he rises, grabbing Gilbert by the arm to steer him away and closer to the door. "Gil," he lowly utters, "you need to _go._"

"Go? I'm not going anywhere." Gil tugs at the corner of his collar, grinds the end of his cigarette out on the floor, then lights another. "No offense, but I'm not leaving you alone with her."

He lowers his voice to be nearly inaudible, pitching it low so there's no chance Ada will hear him. "I know what you did to her uncle. I'm not letting that happen to her. She was like a sister to me."

Once.

Before it had all fallen apart.

Vincent rolls his eyes. "You really think I'm going to _hurt her?_ That sort of thing doesn't work on women, Gil." He leans in closer. "Even still, you're not going to want to be here for this, trust me."

Gilbert flinches instinctively. He's always known that the things Vincent knows about women are things that he categorically does not want to know. "If...if anything bad happens to her..." He breaks off, shaking his head. "If she gets hurt, I'll never be able to explain it to Oz. Whatever you're planning, I need to be here." He winces, then forces himself to ask, "What are you going to do, threaten her? Poison her?"

"While perhaps _you_ might find such things more appealing," Vincent drawls, his fingers lightly tiptoeing their way up Gilbert's arm to stroke it, "I can assure you, they still fall under the category of 'hurting her.' No, rather than that… I'm going to have sex with her." His eyebrows arch high. "Do you really want to be here to watch that? Well-she _is_, apparently, like a sister to you." Sometimes, he imagines himself to be funny.

"Oh."

Gil swallows hard, trying not to look quite as nauseated as the idea makes him feel, though at this point he's not really sure which party he's more upset about. "I..."

He casts a last look at the girl, wan-faced and tear-streaked, and shudders. "Just be gentle. And fucking stop if she tells you to," he mutters, suddenly not able to leave the dungeon fast enough. "I'm going to Pandora."

"Make sure you ask for permission before you leave," Vincent calls after him, turning away with a little smile as he drifts back to Ada. Gilbert really was cute sometimes.

_Permission_.

Even that bastard Break hadn't made him ask permission before leaving, back before everything had gone so much farther to hell. Gilbert's thoughts are dark, churning, as he climbs the many sets of stairs as fast as he can, blocking out every squeak that might be coming from Ada's lips because _god_, if there's anything he doesn't want to hear...

He knocks loudly on Leo's door, the one that had once belonged to a very different man with a very different last name, one who Gilbert had feared much, much less.

It takes a moment for the door to open, and the reason of _why_ presents itself quite clearly as it's yanked nearly off its hinges, albeit sort of sluggishly courtesy of sleep muddling Leo's movements. He half-squints, half-scowls up at Gilbert from underneath thoroughly mussed hair, huddled within little but a sheet he's dragged off of the bed in his trek across the room.

"_What?_"

Gilbert knows he shouldn't quail before a tiny little person like Leo, especially when he's tousled and undressed with forming bruises all over him and reeking of sex. He can see the vague outline of his little brother still sprawled out over the bed, and can't help but mentally confirm, yes, Vincent had been right again. Always so much better at understanding people, even if he was so terrible at dealing with them sometimes...

"Ah," he says, clearing his throat and trying to look contrite, "I'm sorry to wake you, Master, but the interrogation is, uh, going very well, and I was just...I was wondering, that is, if you don't need me for the rest of tonight, you're busy, if I could...gotoPandora."

God, he feels like a naughty child with his hand caught in the cookie jar, asking for another cookie. Then again, given what he'd slipped up and done the last time, he sort of can't even blame Leo.

Leo's face twists further into a scowl of irritation. "You woke me up for this?" he growls, trying to keep his voice low even as he yanks his sheet tighter around himself. "No. You can't leave."

"Just for an hour," Gil grits out. Damn, but it's not _fair_, he'd love to throw it in Leo's face that they aren't all lucky enough to have the one they're missing come back eager and smiling and still so _alive_, no matter what Elliot really is. "Please. I won't say anything, I won't do anything, I swear, I just want to..."

_See him_.

"What part of 'no' don't you understand?" Leo crossly retorts, leaning in closer. "Go sit outside of the dungeon and wait for Vincent if you want a warm body so badly. Between the two of you, I'm not sure who was stupid enough to plan those stunts earlier, but until I know, I'm not inclined to let either of you out of my sight. Now, if you wake me up again and pull me away from _my_ warm body…"

It's a very, very near thing, but Gil manages not to punch the little shit-his _master_, the one he'd never chosen for himself, the one he'd failed only today-across his fine-boned face.

With a supreme effort of will, he unclenches his fist. He doesn't quite trust himself to speak without snarling, without saying something that he'll regret a thousand times for everyone's sake, so he simply turns on his heel and stalks away, long legs carrying him to the old Nightray liquor cabinet before he'd even realized where he was going.

It's in his old room that he uncorks the bottles, three at once, putting the second and third corks back in loosely, just in case he's too drunk to do it himself later. Sometimes, when he's really far gone, he can remember Oz as he'd been before he'd fallen the first time, that laughing, carefree young man, the bright-eyed boy with the warm smile that had felt like it was only for him.

He just has to get through the first part, where he's just drunk enough to remember Oz screaming, Oz torn apart by his own bullets, Oz in the bottom of a dank dungeon at Pandora alone for two years, scarred and terrified of his own existence, Oz the B-Rabbit.

It doesn't matter how long it takes him. There's nothing to stay sober for, not anymore. Now he really is the useless piece of trash he's been called so many times.

It's some time before the door cracks open and Vincent quietly makes his way inside, the floor creaking beneath his feet the only real warning he gives Gilbert as he pauses, taking in the sight. Really, he's not terribly surprised, having known Leo would deny his brother's request and confine him to the mansion for some time longer-more out of spite than any real suspicion that Gilbert is further inclined to ruin his plans.

Still-it's been awhile since he's seen his brother quite this drunk.

"You should let me help you into bed, brother," he murmurs as he drifts closer. His own hair is a bit of a mess, no matter how he's tried to confine it back into another ribbon, and his clothes a might bit wrinkled, reeking of some lingering perfume. Vincent wonders, briefly, if it would assuage any of Gilbert's worries to know he's pulled Ada from the dungeon for now, and housed her in a proper room, no matter how many locks are in place and how he's willed her to sleep. "We can worry about other things in the morning."

There's a warm voice talking to him, for real and not part of the memories dancing in his head, though that voice is in those plenty as well. Gil opens his eyes, blinks blearily at his little brother, and groans. "You...you're..."

He can't quite work up the energy to be angry, even if he feels for some reason like he should give it the old college try. He just glares resentfully, then reaches down for his bottle, somewhat surprised to find it empty already. That's fine; he just reaches for the next one he'd set aside, yanking out the cork with his teeth and spitting it at Vincent, though it misses its mark by several feet. "You don't even like him. Don't...don't tell me you're sorry. You're not sorry. You're never sorry."

If nothing else, his brother _is_ terribly cute when he's drunk. Vincent bites the inside of his cheek to keep back an amused snort, even as he reaches forward to try and take the bottle from his hand. "_Really_, Gil… I think you've had enough." Never mind that he certainly isn't sorry, that he does, indeed, find Oz annoying at best, and really, his brother would be _much_ better off not pining over that… thing, and instead curled up in a warm bed next to Vincent until their time runs out.

"No!" Gil grabs the bottle out of Vincent's grasping hand, aiming a kick at Vincent's chest even if he's sure it won't connect, as sloppy as he feels. "I'm not done. And if I've had enough whiskey, then _you_ have had enough _girls_."

Ah, this again. "If you say I've had enough girls, Gil, then I've had enough girls," Vincent purrs, settling instead for prowling his way closer, a thigh nestled between Gilbert's as he leans in. "You know, I took good care of Miss Ada tonight. Are you jealous?"

Gil squirms under his brother's touch, not exactly pushing him away, not exactly pulling him closer either. He takes another long swig of his whiskey, annoyed that he's had so much it doesn't burn its way down his throat anymore, more annoyed at his brother. "She's a good girl," he mutters, back arching as he wiggles around, trying to get comfortable when Vincent's crawling all over him. "I'm...I'm not good, Vince."

"I like it when you aren't _good._"

Another grab for the whiskey bottle pries it from Gilbert's hand this time, and it's deftly set aside as Vincent pushes Gilbert back and down, his back flat against the bed he's draped over. "I'm not good either, you know," he breathes, nuzzling his face into Gilbert's neck, a hand snaking between them to drag his fingertips down Gilbert's stomach, plucking at his fly, dragging between his legs. "But I'll be good for you. Do you want me to just be yours, Gil? Just tell me. Tell me you hate it when I touch anyone else, tell me you're _jealous_."

"Hate it," Gil groans, his hips rutting up against Vincent's hand. "You're supposed to-my job to take care of you, make sure you turned out good, and I _hate_ it, Vince."

He threads a hand through Vincent's hair, fisting hard into the silky strands, hard as if he's clutching the bottle he hardly realizes he's lost. "Just-yeah."

Vincent can't hurt him, can't ever hurt him more than he deserves. Not like he's been hurt by those men, even if he won't admit it. Not like he's hurt those women, even if _they_ won't admit it, but Gil knows. He can see it in his little brother's eyes, and maybe this is something good he can do, useless as he is.

He drags Vincent up, lips straining for a kiss as he whispers, "Just be mine."

Even if Gilbert is drunk, even if he would never say these things if he _wasn't_, Vincent relishes it all the same.

He obliges his brother, then, kissing him hard, groaning against Gil's mouth as his body slides up against him, wriggling closer as he pushes Gilbert down and at the same time, pulls him up to be kissed. "I _am_ yours-just yours-god, Gil, you're _pretty_ when you're drunk," Vincent lowly teases. "All flushed and you just look like a _mess_-like you're waiting for someone to mess you up even more."

It shouldn't feel this good.

It's what he's thought for the last ten years, since his odd little brother that he couldn't even _remember_ had crawled into his bed and kissed his neck and straddled his legs and promised to never, never let him go.

It shouldn't feel so good to have someone caressing him, kissing him, telling him he's pretty and shoving him around, shouldn't feel so good for it to be _Vincent_, he should at least be better than _this_-

And he's known for ten years that he isn't.

It shouldn't feel so good to have something, some_one_ to call his own, that belongs to him and only him, and it's with a selfish, jealous, bruising desire that he kisses his little brother, writhing up against him, nipping and biting at his mouth, hands clawing their way down Vincent's back. "You smell like perfume," he growls, and rips the ribbon from Vincent's hair. "I want you to smell like me."

_God_, but he wishes Gil would be like this more often.

Of course, that wouldn't be very good for his liver or his sanity, but even still, Vincent wants it-wants Gilbert grabbing at him and biting him and pulling at his hair, eager and wanting him. He shudders, his hands raking down Gilbert's sides, fumbling with the fastenings of his pants as he kisses his brother again, biting at his lower lip, trailing his mouth down his jaw to his throat and sucking there instead. It's _nice_, settling between his thighs, shoving them further apart, feeling muscles bunch and seeing Gilbert arch against him, so damnably needy. "I'll make sure I do," Vincent promises, and his fingers wriggle their way into Gilbert's pants, wrapping around his cock, giving it a slow, firm stroke from root to tip. "You're so _hard_ already, Gil-is it because you're thinking about all the things I could do to you, right now?"

Gil is everything right now that he's told Vincent not to be, arching under his touch and whining, hands fisting into the bedsheets, head thrashing from side to side. He feels like a whore, coming so easily undone at the slightest touch, but damned if Vincent doesn't have practice in touching him exactly the way he likes.

Damn himself for showing him, so many, many times.

He nods frantically, muttering, "Yes, Vince-just do it, do them, do me, like-" His mind is swimming, thoughts swirling in a sea of things he hates, things that make him feel jealous, things that make him feel good. He remembers parties, seeing some beautiful young man taking a giggling girl aside, wanting to be her so badly it still aches when he lets himself remember. "Like one of your noble ladies," he rasps, thrusting up into Vincent's hand, shutting his eyes tight against just how debauched he knows he sounds.

It's obscene how fast his mouth goes dry, how his cock jumps and how his hips rut forward, all on their own accord. Vincent swallows hard, his fingers squeezing tight around Gilbert's cock a last time before dragging away, already missing the weight of the hard, hot flesh in his grasp as he focuses on yanking the other man's pants off entirely.

"Like one of the _proper_ ones? The ones that blush and protest and pretend they don't want it at first?" he archly proposes, and his fingers drag upwards, unbuttoning Gilbert's shirt, shoving aside the fabric to rake his nails down the flat planes of his brother's chest. "Or like the ones that are so _repressed_ that they turn into writhing, desperate little sluts the moment they hit my bed?" Vincent's breath is hot, fast against Gilbert's neck as he leans close, biting the lobe of an ear, down Gilbert's throat, a pair of fingers dragging over Gilbert's lips before prying his mouth open, sliding inside to twist against his tongue. "That's you, isn't it, Gil? Nothing more than a whore, wanting a real man, one that knows how to use his cock."

That's how he feels, and god, he's too far gone even to feel bad about it. Gilbert closes his lips around those fingers, sucking wet and sloppy and frantic at them even as his thighs splay wider, one leg coming up to hook around Vincent's waist as he strains upward, trying to find something to rock against.

Bad enough that Vincent's words affect him the way they do. Worse that he's _right_, that Gil does feel that hunger, that shivery, desperate need to have a man inside him, something he's only ever let himself have a handful of times, drunk off his ass, because he _knows _it's wrong, how much he craves it.

His hand comes up to grasp Vincent's wrist, holding it in place as he licks and sucks at those fingers as if they're his last lifeline, his last connection to the dark, filthy things he wants in the deepest corners of his mind.

His eyes flick upwards, opening, latching onto Vincent's for the first time since the door had opened, hoping his eyes say what his tongue is too busy to manage.

Vincent's breath hitches hard, his fingers curling against Gilbert's tongue before he wriggles a third one into his mouth, all to watch him lick and suck, to feel the messy drag of that hot, slick tongue.

"Look at you," Vincent breathes, and his other hand reaches down, yanking at the fastenings of his own trousers. "The way you're acting, you'd like something else in that pretty mouth of yours, wouldn't you, brother? Is that something you like thinking about?" He sucks in a sharp breath as he pulls his own cock out, the drag of his own hand against his flesh almost too much to bear when Gilbert is looking at him like that, rutting up against him like he can't help himself. "God, you just _need it_, don't you?"

There are many things in the world Gilbert doesn't let himself want, and more that he can't resist. His willpower is pathetic, after all, as he's been told so many times. His head is swimming, his body lurching, and it's with a whining groan that he pulls off Vincent's fingers, clumsily shoving him onto his back. "Just...stay there," he mutters, and smacks Vincent's hand away, dragging his tongue messily up the underside of Vincent's cock. "Don't make fun of me," he growls, shifting to get more comfortable between Vincent's legs. "I'm not as good at this as you are so just..." He closes his mouth around the head, and god, the taste shouldn't feel so much like something he _needs_.

Vincent groans, his hands immediately wrapping themselves up in Gilbert's hair, too tight, too rough, but he doubts Gilbert cares at the moment. If anything, he probably likes it, and that makes Vincent's cock twitch at the thought. "It's good, you're good," he breathlessly manages, his hips jerking up, slipping out with the movement to messily rub over Gilbert's lips. "Gil-just-put it in your mouth, s-see how much you can take." He licks his lips, gaze trained on the sight of his brother kneeling between his legs, flushed and mussed and eager. "Just like a good girl."

Gil's breath catches so hard he nearly chokes, one hand stealing down between his legs as he lets out a breathy, needy whimper around his brother's cock. It isn't as if he hasn't thought about it-craved this treatment on some level, maybe every level, and his eyes slide shut as he does as he's told, sinking down with a hungry, helpless moan. One hand rests on Vincent's thigh, the other stroking and squeezing his own cock, just making it that much better as the thick hardness of Vincent's cock slides into his mouth.

He doesn't want to think about what kind of noises he must be making, from the strangled little pleas to the breathy grunts and sloppy wet noises when Vincent hits the back of his throat, and god, every word from Vincent's mouth just makes him want that hand to clench harder in his hair, want the man to make better _use_ of him, to show him exactly what a real nobleman-the perfect nobleman, strong-young-cheerful-kind-does to the girls he takes behind a curtain.

It isn't as if Vincent can _help_ himself now.

Not when Gilbert is making those noises, not when his mouth is so hot and wet and perfect around his cock, down to the way he swallows and gags around him and god, Vincent wants more of that. He can't stop his fingers from tightening, from yanking on Gilbert's hair to drag his head down as his hips buck up, shoving in as deep as he can and _holding_ Gilbert there, his own breath coming fast and hard as he ruts against his brother's face.

"If I knew you liked this so much, I would have shoved you down there far before now," Vincent breathes, voice hitching as he lets up on Gilbert's hair just a bit, enough to let him pull back and breathe somewhat properly. His hips rock up all the same, groaning at the slide of his cock against Gilbert's tongue, down his throat, and his fingers twist roughly within the other man's curls. "I'd fuck your face until I come, but you've been such a dirty little slut that I'm not sure you deserve it."

Gilbert pulls off long enough to cough, wrapping a hand around the base of Vincent's cock, squeezing and stroking as he gasps. He knows he's drooling, red-faced, disgusting, and he shudders with how much it makes him rock into his hand, squeezing the base of his own cock tightly so he won't come too soon. He nuzzles against the head, smearing the fluids over his lips as he laps at the tip.

The whiskey burns in his belly, eggs him on to things he'd never do, never say sober, and damned if he doesn't like the freedom that brings. "So...brother...what _do_ you do to dirty sluts?" he asks, mouthing his lips over the tip, then letting it slip out with a wet pop. "Like me?"

Gilbert isn't even playing _fair._

He's lucky if Gilbert even says his name in bed, let alone acknowledges they're _brothers_, and now he's doing that while talking about what a slut he is. Vincent makes a mental note to keep the cabinets stocked with that particular kind of whiskey, all as he snatches Gilbert up by the arm, drags and shoves him until he's face down into the bed, hips hiked up, legs splayed, and god, but Vincent can't help but grind his slick, dripping cock against the curve of Gilbert's ass, his hands digging into his cheeks to pry them apart.

"Fuck them, until they can't even see straight," he breathes, and he leans forward, the hard line of his cock dragging against Gilbert's flesh, his mouth hot against the back of his brother's neck. "Is that what you want, Gil?" Vincent shifts, just enough that the head of his cock rubs against Gilbert's hole, so hard that he hurts, that it takes effort not to just shove inside and stuff Gil so full that he squeals.

Gilbert shoves his own face into the pillows, biting at the fabric, twisting as tears leak from his eyes at how much he _wants_ this, how something finally feels _good_. It's perfect being here, spread out to be used, finally good for _something_, and he reaches back, mindlessly scrabbling at Vincent's hips, trying to drag him even closer. "Hurry," he groans, arching back, humping against the thick hard line of his brother's cock. "Please-just-in me, please, you _promised_, you said you'd show me how a real man knows how to use his cock, Vince, _please_-"

He'll hate himself tomorrow and hates himself now, but that doesn't stop his cock from being painfully hard and dripping over the sheets.

Vincent has the mind to fumble in his coat pocket before he sheds the thing entirely, the remains of oil in the tiny bottle enough to slick his cock even further. Like hell if he isn't going to make this good, _perfect_ for Gil, especially when he's asking so nicely, begging and writhing back against him like he'll die if he doesn't have a cock in him.

"I'll show you," Vincent promises again, voice hitching, breaking into a groan as he grabs his cock in one hand, rubbing the head over it over his brother's hole. "God, you're just… just so fun to tease. You want it so _badly_-" The taunt trails off into a shuddering breath as Vincent eases the head in, his other hand grasping Gil's hips tightly, holding him still as he sinks in, panting, hissing at that tight, _tight_ slide. Looking down, seeing Gilbert spread around him, muscles twitching, squirming back-it's too much, and Vincent can't help but let his hips shove forward in one long, deep slide, panting out a hot, heavy breath as he gives another, hard jerk of his hips, even once he's fully inside and filling his brother up so completely, just to feel Gilbert twist and twitch and _writhe._

Gil doesn't even try to hold in the cry that forces its way out of his throat at that first tense rush of pleasure, that first too-thick slide of flesh inside him, spreading him open, and the first cry gives way to another, too-loud and ragged, hoarse shouts that he knows make him sound every inch the whore.

That's how he _feels_ now, stuffed full of his brother's cock, stretched out and trembling because it's too much, he's too full, it's been too long and he's damned lucky Vincent had ignored him and taken the time to slick himself, even if there's a dark little part of him that wants to be fucked until he's raw and bleeding.

His hands fist uselessly in the bedsheets, and he shudders, surrendering himself to every too-intense drag of Vincent's cock inside him, shutting his eyes as he whines, "Good so good please fuck me, fuck me like-like your whores, I _know_ you fuck them, fuck me, fuck _me-"_

A laughing youth, giving a pretty girl a flower. He'd have given anything to be behind that curtain instead of outside, listening to her squeal as he'd bitten his lip bloody with jealousy.

Vincent drops a hand to the bed, another into Gilbert's hair, grasping, yanking, pulling hard to drag Gilbert back onto his cock as he thrusts forward, hard and mercilessly. It's all too tight, too hot, too _much_, and Vincent groans, mouthing over the back of Gilbert's neck, over his shoulders, his hips grinding forward, each rough slap of flesh against flesh only making him want _more._

"You're the only one I want," he tells Gilbert, panting and breathless into his ear, and he viciously yanks on the hair in his grasp, hauling Gilbert back onto his cock, his own vision glazing at how good it feels, so good that it's almost painful. "Just you, want to make you _my_ whore-"

It doesn't even hurt _enough_, not as much as Gilbert wants it to, needs it to, because no matter how hard Vincent fucks him, no matter how he's impaled over and over on that thick hard cock slamming into him, it doesn't, won't, _can't_ hurt as much as knowing it's _not_ that smiling youth behind him.

Oh, but right now, it's almost right. He's hard and dripping and sobbing as he's fucked through the mattress, hauled back and used and it's easy enough to pretend, as soaked with alcohol as he is. It's easy enough to think that it's the _right_ man inside him, putting him in his place, giving him the only proper reward for such a good, perfect servant.

_Master..._

Gil screams as he comes, thrashing around Vincent's cock, humping back onto it harder, using his hands as leverage to shove back harder, faster, chanting, "Your whore, your whore, make me your whore, show me, show me, hurt me, your whore..."

Vincent releases Gilbert's hair in favor of shoving him down, holding him to the mattress, his teeth sinking into his shoulder, his nails clawing down his sides as he uses him, fucking him with hard, rough thrusts, using Gil until his own body gives in, gives out, leaving him to shove in as deeply as he can, to groan against Gilbert's skin as he fills him, coming inside of him and leaving himself so spent that he trembles as he sags down.

"Perfect, perfect, you're perfect," Vincent tells him mindlessly, nuzzling into his hair, shuddering as little lingering jumps of his nerves make his hips rock against Gilbert still, drawing out sensation as long as he can. "God, Gil…"

There are tears coursing down Gil's face by the time he turns, knowing who he'll see and hating them both, even as he rests his forehead against his brother's, clutching mindlessly at him, any part he can reach, shuddering and spent. "Just..." He collapses down onto the bed, hands fisting, unclenching in the blankets. "Don't leave me, everyone leaves me."

"I'm not leaving, I'm not going anywhere." Not tonight, at least. Vincent wraps his arms around Gil, dragging him close, kissing at his neck again. "Relax, Gil. Just relax. I love you, remember? I'm the only one that really loves you."

"Y-you're a liar." Gil is hiccuping now, even as he wraps his arms around his brother, holding him as close as he can get, craving the warmth of another body more than he hates that it isn't the _right_ one. "Y-y-you lie all the time. You didn't-" He flushes dark red, burying his face in Vincent's shoulder. "I'd have tasted her on you if you did."

At that, Vincent snorts out a laugh. "There are a dozen ways to enjoy a beautiful woman," he murmurs, dragging a sheet up and over them as he coils his body around Gilbert. "Miss Ada, in particular… she fancies the idea of still _saving_ herself. Mostly, at any rate."

"She's a good girl," Gil mutters, and it doesn't stop the tears in the slightest. If anything, it makes them worse, and he curls against Vincent's chest, fisting his hands in his brother's shirt. "Th-they're better than us. They always-even when they were kids he was so _good_, Vince, and sh-she loved him so much and he was-he was so good and-where's my whiskey, you took it, didn't you?"

"It's gone, Gil," Vincent tiredly drawls, stroking a hand through Gilbert's hair. "You should really just sleep. You'll feel… well, I hope you feel better in the morning. You might have a hangover."

"No, I-I had more," Gil mutters, but it's too much effort to even cast an arm around to look for the other bottle he knows is close, too much effort when he can stay still and be petted and warm instead. "I...did I ever once do right by you?"

He shifts, taking Vincent's face in his hands, holding him as steady as his clumsy hands will allow in his current state of intoxication. "I wanted-I wanted to make it right for you. Just...you should...get married, have babies..."

He's crying again, can't help it, Oz has always teased him about being a crybaby, and he'd do anything to be humiliated by that boy right now. "If there's anyone who should disappear, it's _not_ you..."

Vincent is about two seconds from _sleeping_ the poor wretch.

Instead, he sighs, gently pushing Gilbert's hands away, brushing his lips over his knuckles and easing him back against the mattress. "Gil. Can you really imagine what my children would be like? I don't think that's something this world needs."

Vincent never listens, but that's nothing new. Gil huffs out a breath, clutching at his brother again, pulling him closer still as his eyes slide closed. "You're stupid. Really...stupid..."

He's achingly sore, but that just makes a smile curve his lips as he settles in, giving in to his drunken fantasies at last. He drags the girl out from behind the curtain, straddling his master, showing him how much _better_ he is, how much _use_ he can be, even if he'd rather die than even consider doing such a thing sober, or awake.


	7. Chapter 7

Really, it's always the most innocent things that lead to the most destruction.

It's a good day, an _easy_ day, a slow day when Elliot gets the idea. After all, the thing is just _sitting_ there, and even if Leo hates it, what's really the worst that could happen? Once the idea is in his mind, it itches, as if on some level he's aware that his master's will won't allow him to simply go, so he tugs Leo aside from the others, brushing his lips over the curve of one small ear. "Leo," he murmurs, "_Master_, while you're busy with the Baskervilles do you mind if I just...stretch my legs a bit? I want to see some of the old estate." His vision clouds for a moment as he admits, "I'd like to visit my parents' graves."

_Since I'm the one responsible for their deaths._

Leo doesn't _like it_, but at the same time, being so utterly and completely and control of Elliot's movements is… _weird, _Chain or not. And not to mention there's the chance to get a few things done that Elliot-well, that Elliot might frown upon, or perhaps like a bit too much and get in the way of…

"… You're probably being driven mad by boredom, anyway," he wryly allows, absently reaching a hand up to fiddle with the crest on Elliot's chest, tracing a fingertip along the lines of the cross. "As much as I dislike not having you around… I can't blame you. Go ahead, I'll survive a few hours."

"You'd better," Elliot says, but softens the words by catching that hand, bringing it up to his mouth for a brief brush of his lips. It's just barely innocent enough to be taken as a sign of fealty, and all that he'll allow when there are _people_ about, people that, though Leo seems to trust them, Elliot has no desire to give any leverage over his master.

The second the White Knight vanishes, Gilbert clears his throat, hat in his hands. "Ah, Master, I think I've made some progress with the girl."

With a little huff, Leo turns back around, huddling himself underneath the heavy red cloak of the Baskervilles as if Elliot's disappearance has left him ten degrees colder. "Have you, now? That's more than I can say for your brother, then." Pointedly, he ignores how Vincent obviously bites into his own cheek.

Gil doesn't look at either of them. It had been hard enough sneaking down there, listening to her cry, being so utterly, pathetically helpless to do anything to stop it. "She trusts me," he says simply. "Not that I have her best interests at heart, but she knows what I'm working for. I think-she says that she'll only give me the location if I bring her proof that Oz is alive _today_. I tried casting an illusion with Raven, but she saw through it. I..." He swallows thickly, knowing just how recently the same request was denied, but _surely_... "If I could just go to Pandora for an hour..."

Leo's mouth twists, a mix disbelieving and begrudging. "What exactly do you think you can accomplish in an hour? Oz is sealed, and for good reason. You can't exactly bring him here to show her that he's alive."

"I..." Gilbert huffs out a breath, jamming his hands into the pocket of his coat only to remember that he's out of cigarettes. "I didn't mean that. I just meant he could tell me something, something only the two of them would know, and I could relay it to her. Then she'd know he's alive, and she'd be more willing to trust us."

The duke's gaze sharply swivels to Vincent. "Is there a particular reason why you can't get anything out of here _now?_"

Vincent sighs, shoulders rising and falling in a shrug. "She's a _woman_, my lord. Fickle as they come." He ignores Lottie's huff some paces away.

A pale hand escapes the folds of his cloak to grind into the bridge of his nose. "Fine," Leo mutters. "But before you leave, Gilbert-there's one thing I wanted to ask."

At least Gil knows how pathetic it is how his heart leaps, his throat closing at the idea that he's going to _see_ him, he's going to be near Oz soon, going to see with his own eyes that he's _alive_ if not exactly thriving. He tries to keep the emotions off his face, knowing how little they benefit him in current company, and nods. "Yes, Master, anything."

"How good _are_ your sewing skills, exactly?"

Gil blinks. It's not exactly the question he's expecting, and he stammers, "Ah, w-well enough. Well enough to mend most tears anyway." In truth they're better than that, but unless Vincent's said something there's no reason to give Leo cause to mock him.

The expression that crosses Leo's face is something akin to a pout as he glares in Vincent's direction. "You said he was better than that."

Vincent, to his credit, doesn't laugh, though it's certainly a struggle. "He is, he's just being modest."

"Well," Leo huffs, annoyed as his eyes sharply fall upon Gilbert again. "Stop it. I'm tired of soliciting Charlotte for her things; are you good enough to make dresses, or am I going to have to have you kidnap someone for that, too?"

Gil's cheeks color as he admits, "As long as it's nothing for society, I'm sure I can manage." What the hell, maybe if he can be useful to his master in some way, no matter how odd the request, he'll manage to wrangle future favors.

A part of him misses when the satisfaction of serving well was the best reward he could imagine.

"Who is the lady?"

Leo has the decency to flush himself, just a bit, when he curls a bit more into his cloak and sniffs out a dignified, "It's me. I mean-I'm no lady, obviously, but-"

"It's best not to ask too many questions about the private lives of others, Gil," Vincent interrupts on a drawl, much to Leo's relief. "At least you shouldn't have too much difficult making something flattering for his figure, hmm?"

"And what exactly does that mean?" is Leo's sour bristle.

"That for such a petite thing, you have a lovely shape to you."

It's a good thing that Elliot isn't here.

Perverts and deviants. All the people he knows are perverts and deviants.

Gil's face is a dark, painful red at the idea as he admits, "I have...some experience in such things. Not for myself, but-yes, Master. I can do what you're asking."

Leo's build _isn't_ much different from Oz's, though longer-legged, but that shouldn't be too much of an issue. Gil reminds himself that Leo's the pervert, not him, but Leo is his master, so it's really just fine to be thinking about such things. "Any special requirements?"

Leo sucks in a slow breath. "Ell… he likes… I mean. Ah. Maybe something that bares a bit more shoulder…"

"You look like you're going to pass out," is Lottie's purr of a remark tossed in Gilbert's direction. "Be grateful, at least now you don't have to take in the bust of-"

"_Do_ make sure it flatters his complexion-darker jewel tones," Vincent mildly interrupts, offering his brother a smile.

"Well, that's obvious," Gilbert mutters at his brother, nearly crushing the empty cigarette case to powder in his hands. He avoids Lottie's eyes, simply giving Leo a low bow. "As you wish, Master. I'll take care of it. May I go?" Anything, _anything_ to get away from this conversation.

"Yes, go," Leo agrees, seeming less than inclined to continue lingering on conversations that _are_ terribly awkward. "Just don't be too long about it."

It's with relief so strong it's palpable that Gilbert flees the Nightray mansion, arriving at Pandora as quickly as the carriage will take him. He avoids everyone-easy enough to do for someone who knows them so well and sticks so closely to the shadows-all the way down to the dungeon.

There's no helping using his credentials on the guards, though he does hope he'll be able to leave before anyone notices him and makes too much issue of his appearance. The heavy groaning weight of the door opening is like a weight being lifted as he slowly, anxiously steps inside.

It's a large room, at least. He hasn't seen it since the last time he'd laid the sealing spells, but the furnishings are well enough, bed and chamberpot and writing desk. Gil hangs back, several feet from the bars, remembering vividly what had happened the last time he'd been foolish enough to go close. "Oz."

Two years should have done him more justice.

Then again, two years minus sunlight, minus real, honest human contact, minus-well, _everything__-_takes a solid toll on any person, and certainly, it's not something Oz is immune to.

He stirs from where he's coiled himself into a ball on the bed, where most of his time is spent if he isn't pacing like some caged animal (which he is, by all intents and purposes), the long tail of his hair swishing over his shoulder as he sits up, squinting through dim light to peer at the other man. "… Gil?" It's _strange_, actually talking to someone-being allowed to talk to someone, mind, which is normally barred by both persons outside and inside of his head. "What… I didn't have anyone tell me you were visiting," Oz lamely finishes, as if it even matters. What was he going to do, make himself more presentable? Hardly.

It takes all of his willpower-not that it's much, Gil's admitted that to himself a thousand times-not to simply run over, apologize, fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness, make sure he's _all right_.

_Get ahold of yourself, man. You're not doing him any favors._

Gil clears his throat, hands stuffed into his pockets, balled into fists. "It's an...unplanned visit."

_Don't ask how he is. You know how he is. Don't make it worse, just do your job and go_. It's difficult, so difficult when he hears the rasp in that voice, sees the dark shades under those eyes, the pallor of that skin, and knows how it all _should_ be. "I..." He clears his throat again, digging his fingernails into his palms to keep himself grounded. "I'm not here to re-seal you or anything. I've seen Ada. She wants to know you're alive."

That, quicker than anything, makes Oz bolt the rest of the way upright, too-thin fingers clutching at the bedsheets to steady himself as he throws his legs over the side of it. "Ada? But-" A quick swallow follows, as Oz's mind quickly puts two and two together. If Gilbert has seen Ada, then that means she's not _hiding_ anymore, and that without a doubt-"Is she all right? Leo… he's not hurting her, is he?"

God, seeing Oz like this tears at his heart, the healthy glow of years ago faded to the slender wraith of a boy he sees, and Gil has to remind himself with every second that he's doing his best, that the only way to _help_ Oz is to purge him of Jack's spirit, that his goals align with Leo's, that he's doing everything he can. "She's fine," he assures his old master, allowing himself one brief smile. "I swear it. Leo's...busy. It's been just me and Vincent talking to her."

"Busy? With what?" Then again, does he really want to know about Leo's business these days? Oz slumps back, plucking at the mattress rather than lunge at the bars of his cage for even the sparsest of contact. It never ends well-usually, with Jack attempting to play games, and god, but he's glad the man is _quiet_ for the moment. "I'm glad she's fine. I… that's why you're here then, I guess? To double-check that I haven't died yet," he only half jokes.

Gil flinches at the joke, at how accurate it really is, and at how much he wishes it weren't the case. He's at least keeping it together enough to ignore the little question about Leo's business, steering the conversation back to safer, more important territory. "I'd come more often if I could, I just-Ada wants some proof. Something I can tell her that only you would know?"

Oz's nose wrinkles at that. "Well, that's hard, you were there when we were so young… oh! I remember the names of every kitten in her first cat's litter, and all the colors. You refused to come in the room, and would run every time we talked about them," he reminds Gil dryly. "Want me to write it down so you don't have to relive the horror?"

Gil's mouth twists at the memories, though just the _thought_ of cats isn't enough to bring on the chills, the shakes, the paralyzing fear that seeing the animals in the flesh does. "That would work, I bet. Thank you," he adds, awkwardly.

Both times he'd come in since the last, botched attempt to "help" have been easier than this, and harder too. He'd just stood there, in the shadows, watching Oz sleep, reassuring himself that no matter how it felt to be separated again, no matter his own guilt, Oz was at least _alive_.

This...talking to him, seeing that glint in his eyes, seeing him move-this is much, much harder.

Hauling himself to his feet, Oz makes his way over to the desk to scribble down the note in question. "… You're taking care of her, right, Gil?" he suddenly says, eyeing the paper once more before folding it up into a little square and tentatively making his way to the bars separating them. "I know you said Leo isn't paying her much mind right now, but…"

Gil swallows hard, all too aware of how limited his influence actually is. "I'm trying," he admits, shuffling closer, trying to focus only on the note and not on how close they're about to be after two years. "The last time I saw her was just a couple hours ago, and she looked fine. She's..." He flushes pink, suddenly terribly ashamed of his little brother. "I don't think Leo's seen her at all since she arrived," he finishes, at least able to convey _that_ much good news as he approaches the bars.

"… That's good," Oz allows, lingering a step back for a moment, clutching at the little piece of paper enough that he's crumpling it. "He can be… ah. Really intense." _Scary_, more like. He frowns. "It's probably better… if I don't touch you, you know. The last time…"

Gil nods slowly. He remembers the last time all too well, and what it had cost them both. "Just toss it through, I'll pick it up." He worries at his lower lip, then promises, "I don't know how much he'll listen to me-you know he's got power I can't even figure out, but...I swear I'm doing everything I can to make sure she's safe. And you're helping, too."

Oz rolls his eyes before he can stop himself. "I'm not. I'm the reason she's in there in the first place; I can't do anything from in here." It comes out a bit too cheerful, for as bitter as the words are, and Oz heaves a sigh as he aims the scrunched up paper for a shot through the bars, tossing it out. "At least I have you watching out for her."

"It's not your fault." The words come so easily to his lips, and for good reason, given how many times he's spoken them. Somehow, they always seem to come easier than _it's not my fault_, but he doesn't want to think too hard about that. He picks up the scrap of paper, tucking it into his pocket, and stands, shoulders drooping. "Is there anything..."

God, his chest aches from how much he wants to do something _more_.

"You know there's not," Oz simply replies, smile wan and eyes lidded. There's that inclination to drift closer, to reach a hand through the bars of his cage and touch Gilbert for once, but he stops it, no matter the compulsion. "Gil… tell Ada to do the right thing, okay? This isn't about family secrets anymore. If the Baskervilles hadn't done all of this, who knows what would have happened?"

Gil bows his head, sort of a nod, sort of an admission, sort of defeated. "I know. I'm trying. She's...protective of you." _Something I understand._

He looks up again, eyes tracing over that familiar, yet so changed face, taking in every detail because god, he has no idea how long it's going to be before he next sees Oz awake and looking at him. He sees it now, of course, what he'd never remembered before. He sees that it's more than just a Vessalius resemblance, sees his old master's best friend in those green eyes, the shape of his face, everything. Somehow, the long months in the dungeon have only heightened the similarity.

He hisses out an exasperated breath at himself for having so little willpower after all. "Back up, I'm going to check the sealing spells. I don't know when he'll let me come next."

"… The last time you did that when I was awake, it was a bad idea," Oz wearily points out, but nevertheless backs up all the same, until his knees hit the bed and he flops backwards onto it once more.

"I'm ready this time." It's easier to say that than _anything so I don't have to leave just yet_, and Gil just gives a brief little glare inward, mentally daring Jack to try something. He runs his fingers through the bars, checking the edge of the seal, keeping one eye trained on the boy.

"You, uh eating all right?" he asks, even though he knows Oz must be. It's not as though Pandora is going to let their prized possession die of starvation when they have so many other interesting ways they'd probably rather kill him.

"I miss your cooking." Ugh. Probably shouldn't bring that up, Gilbert will get all emotional and that'll just be _bad_-but it's true all the same, and so it's hard to bite his tongue. Oz sighs, rolling over onto his side to watch the older man. "I can't remember the last time I had chocolate."

Gil bites the inside of his cheek, pouring a bit of Raven's power into the sealing ring. "I'll get you some chocolate. I'd send you over a whole meal sometime, but I'm pretty sure they'd search it before it got to you."

He can't really blame Pandora for being skeptical about his intentions, after all. He's pretty skeptical about them himself sometimes.

Oz can't help but slowly smile at that. "… They probably would, yeah. I miss not having you around to cook for me all the time… you were always really good at it, you know. I probably didn't tell you that enough, huh?"

The power of Gilbert's chain always makes him dizzy nowadays, though the reason of that he honestly has no idea. Jack? The fact that _he's_ technically just a chain? Probably all of the above. Oz feels his eyes glaze a bit, and he doesn't quite realize that he simply rolls off the bed to flop next to it on the floor. There's that feeling of displacement again-and the worst part is not even being able to _warn_ Gilbert that Jack is waking up.

Gilbert snorts, bending to his task more fully. He can barely spare half an ear for the conversation, not when he's listening to his chain. Even Raven is being distracting, trying to whisper creaking dusty words in his mind when he's trying to talk. "You never needed to tell me anything, Master. I was never as good as you deserved, anyway."

_Shut up,_ he growls at Raven's presence, narrowing his eyes as the seal pulses, fluctuating under his fingers. It's fighting him, something that makes him tug off his glove with his teeth, ignoring his own precautions and shoving his whole naked hand through the bars to press his palm against the seal. "What..."

_Ow_, Oz dimly thinks as the whole seal flashes, that little, electrifying course of power flashing through his own limbs to the point that he's numb. It's the last thing he remembers before a cold shock follows, like being doused in an ice lake in the middle of winter, and no, no no no no that is the last thing that he wants-

Not that he has a say in it, anyway.

"… Weird." That's not his voice. Well, it _is_, but he isn't saying it, not forming the words, nor is it him willing his body to slowly roll over and push upright once more. "Gil-is the seal _down?" _As worried as his voice makes him seem, Oz knows it's a lie. "Maybe it's a sign to go and see Ada in person." Supposed to be a joke, but it isn't one, not at all.

"Yeah, I'm sure Jack would love that," Gil mutters under his breath, then curses, raking his hair back from his face with the hand not currently pressed to the seal. It's the last thought he has before it _really_ rebounds, changing and mutating under his touch. His gaze darts to Oz, expecting to see that carefree, casually cruel look he'd seen last time, but all he sees is concern.

No such thing as too careful, he reminds himself. "Oz, kneel down in the middle of the seal, quick. I'm gonna have to lay a new spell. It should only be down for a second. Raven!"

Oz doesn't quite hear it, no matter how he tries to, no matter how his body moves anyway. For a moment, he's surprised that Jack is doing as he's told-but the he feels it, that little underlying thrum of power, still as that same, frozen lake he's just been tossed into, and god, he knows it's subtle enough that Gilbert can't even begin to notice, not now.

Whatever it is that Jack does, however it is that Jack manipulates _him_ and the power he draws from the Abyss, it always seems more than capable of stopping Glen's chains in their tracks, and this is no exception. Oz can feel the palpable _snap_, the way that the seal doesn't quite mend, and how his own face twists into confusion and worry, so very convincingly.

"Gil… what's going on?"

Shit, whatever's happening, it's bad, and there's the distinct possibility that it might not be Jack. There's certainly enough infighting, enough surprises in life that it might be something else, and if there is, he's not even _close _to ready for it. Gil bites his lip, trying to think fast when Oz sounds so confused, so afraid, and damn it, the one good thing about having him in this hellhole is that he's supposed to be _safe_!

"It's fine," he lies, trying to keep his breathing under control. He can feel the seal unraveling now faster than ever before, and _god_ what he'd give to have Break at his side for this. This is no time to yearn for absent friends, though, so he shoves that anxiety into his bond with his chain, slamming both hands onto the ground and letting the power spill from him. "Hold still, I'm laying a new circle now!"

Even if it isn't something he can see, Oz can certainly _feel_ Jack smirking, hear him laughing.

"It's not working." His voice sounds just shy of frantic, no matter the obvious struggle to keep it level and calm. "Gil-you can't leave it like this. What if Jack comes out? He'd just… everyone in Pandora…"

"Damn it, I'm not leaving it like this, I'm fixing it, I'm fixing it! Just-is he trying anything?" he shouts, sweat beading on his brow as he channels more power, more than is really safe for his own body, snarling at Raven when he tries to pull back. _Don't fight me, it'll be worse if I let him escape!_

His very bones ache at the strain he's putting on them, head throbbing, pounding with the volume of power rushing through, and he can barely _see_ straight, falling to his knees as he grits his teeth so hard they feel like they're grinding into powder. He tastes blood, and his fingernails scrabble at the ground, but the seal finally, shakily, goes up.

It's not perfect, not by a long shot, but it's strong. Shit, he knows he needs to get in that cell and check every bit of the circle, but for the moment all he can do is slump against the bars, panting raggedly. "S...sorry..."

_Yes, he's trying things, he's the one doing this, the second you step in here, he's going to-_

"It's okay, Gil." His voice is shaky, and Oz inwardly whimpers, a sound that only he can hear. "It's okay. Just-come in and check this thing out, and then… then maybe you should get out of here, before Jack wakes up, and actually _does_ try something… you've already used so much power."

Gil nods wearily, ignoring his body's desire to rest, hauling himself up by the bars. "Yeah. You, uh, know the routine. Don't move."

God, this is stupid, but if there were any choice about it, he wouldn't be here in the first place. Without Break, he's the only one that can finish the seal, and if he waits long enough to recover his powers, that could be all the opening Jack needs.

He has the key, of course, magical and physical. For all his exhaustion, he's wary, keeping both eyes trained on the fragile youth in the center of his circle, no matter how superfluous it seems. He enters the cell, locking the door behind him and scooting the key out, just far enough that his long arms will be able to reach it, but Oz's won't. "Behave yourself, Jack," he says cautiously, not knowing whether the man can hear him or not. "I don't want to hurt either of you. This won't take long."

For once, Oz wonders if Jack is just bored, and is just playing a game.

The voice echoing through his mind-_be a good boy, and just watch_-puts an end to those thoughts, because it's when Gilbert is nearly done that he finally shifts, a hesitant hand reaching out towards Gil, not quite touching.

"… I know we're not supposed to touch or anything," Oz-no, Jack, it's just _Jack_, Oz miserably notes-murmurs. "But I just… I really miss you, Gil. It's… I'm really sorry, about everything that happened." His lips crack into a wry smile. "For what it's worth, I haven't heard from Jack in weeks, so…"

Gilbert's breath hitches. He makes the mistake of making eye contact-knows it's a mistake, knows it's stupid, can't help himself-and sighs out a breath, all the fight going out of his shoulders. "I...I miss you too, Oz." He swallows hard, shutting his eyes briefly. "Every day."

_It's worse than when you were in the Abyss. It's worse than when I never knew you. It's worse than when you were back and pulling away from me, growing into such a strong, beautiful young man and I knew I'd always be alone._

He wants nothing more than to reach out, to lay a hand on Oz's cheek, ruffle that messy blond hair, pull him close and tell him it would be _fine_, but at least he has a little more self-control than that. "I'm glad you're feeling better. I hate seeing you cooped up like this. I just...god, I just want this to be over."

"… You and me both."

That same, hesitant hand swings out further, snatching hold of one leg of Gilbert's trousers, long fingers wrapped up in the fabric as Oz-no, Jack-looks up at him, wide-eyed, _doe-_eyed, tired and desperate all at once. "I'm not feeling better. Not really-I just-" his voice cracks a bit, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he glances to the side with a shuddering little laugh. "I don't know how much longer I can do this. There's no one, absolutely no one, all I have is you-"

Gil's pretty sure that a knife between his ribs would hurt less. He flinches at first, but nothing bad happens at the touch, and maybe that was a one-time thing after all. God, Oz looks so upset, so worn-down and _broken_, and it almost drives him to tears. "Oz..."

He licks his lips, stepping a little closer. "You always have me. Even if I'm not here, you know...god, you know there's not a thing I wouldn't do for you."

_There's not a thing I wouldn't _become_ for you._

"_Stay with me_," is the plea that follows, and both of his hands are on Gil, then, as he lurches forward, face pressing into Gilbert's hip with a little hitch of his breath. "Just… just for a little while. Nothing bad will happen, and even if something _does_, I know you can stop it-" He huffs, his cheek rubbing against Gilbert's thigh as he glances up, hair fanning around his face. "Please?"

Gil's throat goes suddenly dry, head throbbing with the aftereffects of the magic he'd used, and this is _nothing_ he's prepared for. He has trouble swallowing, has trouble _breathing_, and no part of his brain is even working well enough for speech. He stammers, stumbling over a few hurried sentence fragments before he settles into, "O-oz, you're-I-m-maybe just for a minute, but-"

A slow bat of his eyes follows, just enough to make it seem like he's blinking back a bit of wetness there. No actual waterworks-no, that's not something _Oz_ would allow, after all-and so he sniffs it away, digs his fingers in firmer still, snaking them around Gilbert's legs as he scoots forward on his own knees.

"You're _shaking_," not-Oz whispers, letting his own voice waver a bit as he nuzzles at Gilbert's thigh again, his breath hitching just slightly as he lifts a seemingly hesitant hand upward, gently grasping at Gilbert's belt. It's funny, listening to Oz's rather shell-shocked protests, to the way he recoils within his own mind. _You can't tell me you didn't see this coming. _"I… do you want to sit? The bed's not much, but-"

A strangled noise forces its way up from Gil's throat, the blood pounding a rapid tattoo in his ears, everything slow, everything flashing before his eyes in bright clarity, and all he can hear is the rapid pulse of his own breath, and the whisper-soft drag of Oz's soft hands across his trousers.

His own hand shoots out, catching Oz's wrist, stopping him even if he can't stop himself from stroking his thumb over the back of Oz's hand. "I-god, you don't have to-you don't have to do that to get me to stay, Oz."

He knows his hand is trembling, that sweat is beading on his forehead, and he can't even _breathe_. He has no idea what Oz will see in his eyes-the hunger, probably, that he's tried to keep hidden for more than half of his life. It doesn't seem real, it doesn't seem _possible_ that Oz could be here, could be asking for such a thing, and the only explanation is that he's lonely. "You don't...if anyone should be...it shouldn't be you," he finishes on a whisper, shaking hand tightening on Oz's wrist.

A shake of Oz's head follows, and his head tilts, nuzzling next against Gilbert's hand, his lips parting as he presses his mouth to it, warm and soft. "It's not… to get you to stay," he murmurs, letting his face heat, just slightly. It's not a difficult reaction to summon, not when Oz is actually frantic in the back of his mind, embarrassed and humiliated and angry. "I mean-it is, but that's… I also-" His breath leaves him in a rush. "I want to. Being down here… being away from you-" That flush darkens, and he ducks his head with a little laugh. "I guess I realized pretty quickly what I've been missing, you know? I should've… all the times that you looked at me before…"

Gil would think it was a dream, except his dreams are never like this. His dreams are always fire and blood and betrayal, not this, _never_ this. Slowly, he kneels down, tracing his fingers over Oz's cheek, brushing against that soft skin he's tried so, so hard never to touch for too long, even before it was dangerous. "I...you were never supposed to know," he admits, choked, furious with himself for being so obvious. There's nothing he wants more than to lean in, to taste those lovely pink lips, but god, what if he's wrong, what if Oz has just been down here too long, what if it's one of his pranks? "I-look, I never wanted to frighten you..."

Not-Oz makes a face, his nose scrunching up even as he leans into Gilbert's hand, lips parting again as his teeth gently catch on Gilbert's thumb in a light reprimand of a bite. "You're an idiot," he matter-of-factly says, though the words escape fondly. "You can't scare me, Gilbert. You never have. Do you _really_ think if I'd even suggest this if I didn't want it, too? You, of all people, should know how I am by now…"

That, of all things, draws a surprised little laugh out of Gil, something so carefree, so _Oz_ that it can hardly be anything else. "Sorry. I just..." He curls his hand around Oz's cheek, thumb stroking over his lips, brushing the pad over the softness there. This, even this, to be able to touch that softness with his own hand, is more than he'd ever thought he'd have. "You were always braver than me."

A quick breath escapes those lips, and a wet, pink tongue flicks out, dragging over Gilbert's thumb, sucking it into his mouth with a little bob of his head. "Waited just as long, though," Oz's voice murmurs, and his eyes lid with a little shudder before glancing upward again, his mouth releasing Gilbert's thumb with a slick, wet pop. "Gil, I…"

This time Gil can't stop the yelp that escapes, or the painful, aching pressure pooling in his abdomen, and honestly, he doesn't try. It's only because this is the boy he treasures, cherishes more than any other that he doesn't just tackle him to the floor, rutting like a crazed animal, though the impulse is _strong_. He doesn't even have the presence of mind to insist _no you haven't, you didn't wait those ten years, _all he can do is pull Oz close, hardly daring even now to press his mouth against the boy's. His hands are shaking so badly he wouldn't be able to hold a spoon or a pen, and his breath is a hitching, uneven thing as he does what he's wanted to do since he was nothing but a child himself, and discovers once and for all how his chosen master's lips taste.

The _fear_ that coils through the back of Oz's mind is humorous, and Jack is inclined to firmly ignore it, all in favor of sinking against Gilbert with a low, _relieved_ groan, being sure to keep himself shaky, a little hesitant no matter how his hands grasp for the other man, grabbing at his shoulders, his hair, anything he can touch.

He also reminds himself that Oz wouldn't be that good of a kisser, considering he hasn't had the _practice_ that Jack has had, but he's good enough, if not a bit clumsy. With a huff of an exhale, he tumbles backward, dragging Gilbert with him, never mind that the floor underneath him is hard and cold-distracting enough is Gilbert's body above him, warm and silk-over-steel, and at the very least, Jack doesn't have to fake the inclination he has to arch up and wriggle his way against him.

Surely, if Gil ever did have dreams that were good, like a normal person, this would be front and center in each and every one. Every minuscule brush of skin against his, every sound, every touch is enough to reduce him to nothing more than impulse, nothing more than the _hunger_, and what keeps him from turning into a savage beast isn't caution, but the other hunger, just as strong, to make this last for ages.

Slowly, cautiously, less afraid that he's going to spook the boy and more afraid that it's going to be over too soon, Gil bears down, long lean limbs splaying Oz out on the floor, kissing him with all the desire he's kept poorly-buried for most of his life, and he lurches forward, grinding his hips down against Oz's, and god, he's so hard it _hurts_, and it's _definitely_ going to be over far, far too soon. "Oz," he murmurs against those soft lips, and for once it's the right name with the right partner. "Oz, Oz, Oz..."

"Gil-" The man's name escapes as something akin to a gasp, and a low, broken whine escapes Jack's throat as his legs spread, thighs clutching to either side of Gilbert's hips and trembling as he squirms. One, pale hand clutches at Gilbert's back, fisting into his coat, refusing to let go as the other tries to wriggle between them, color willed to his face once more as his fingers drag over the hard line of Gil's cock, straining against his trousers. "You're-" He swallows hard, mouth dry. "You're so hard already. I want…" His fingers curl, squeezing, the next tremor he allows anticipatory rather than any sort of hesitant. "I want to taste you." _How long have you wanted Oz to say that to you, I wonder?_

Gil's whole body shudders at that, and he nods frantically in agreement, suddenly a lot less concerned with propriety and a hell of a lot more concerned with the quick, deft hand around his cock, where he'd never dared to imagine it might be. "Y-yeah, if that's what-if you want, I-god, Oz-"

He draws back enough to fumble with his own belt, getting it open along with his trousers, squeezing hard at the base of his cock to keep from coming just at the sight of the boy, at the sight of everything he's ever wanted offering itself to him.

A ragged inhale follows, and Not-Oz barely pushes himself up onto an elbow as his other hand grasps at Gilbert's shirt, trying to drag him forward, further up to straddle his chest. "Come here," he whispers, licking his lips, skin flushed and lips parted, his tongue flicking out to run over his own lower lip. "I've always… imagined you doing it, just like this." Another tug, and god, Gilbert is so close that he has to tilt his head forward, just a bit, just enough that his lips catch against the tip of his cock. "K-kneeling over me… just… riding my face, letting me taste all of you-"

It's a near thing-a very, _very_ near thing, and Gil bites his lip bloody because of it-but Gil manages not to finish from that alone, blinking as he reminds himself sternly that he's not fifteen anymore, he's _not_ going to embarrass himself like a kid, not when-

The sight of that little pink tongue darting out between Oz's lips almost does him in again.

He sucks in a long breath, bracing his knees wide, even the _wrongness_ of it being on a dungeon floor with him kneeling over Oz of all things only adding to the allure. It would take a saint to refuse that face, that _mouth_, and Gilbert has never fancied himself one of those.

One hand holding himself steady, the other threading gently through his hair, Gil asks in a shaky voice, "Ready?" as he guides himself inside, into the closest thing to heaven he's ever going to feel.

_This_ body still has something of a gag reflex, something Jack tries to swallow down as Gilbert slides over his tongue, as he sags back in favor of grabbing of the other man's hips, dragging him forward no matter how he has to swallow hard to keep from gagging. A low, muffled groan escapes him, and he draws in a quick breath through his nose, eyes closing briefly, his tongue eager, wriggling against the underside of Gilbert's thick cock as his lips stretch around him.

He's hard, too, something that only seems to make Oz angrier, more humiliated, and Jack only makes it worse-or better, perhaps?-as another, muffled noise leaves his throat as he sucks sloppily on Gilbert's cock, forgoing skill for eagerness, a hand fumbling down to press between his own legs with a heated sigh exhaling through his nose.

God, he can't _breathe_. Gil's so hard he feels the pulse of his heart in his cock, twitching, jerking against Oz's tongue, and it's only because the boy seems so _eager_ that he wrestles down the guilt, letting himself drag across that perfect, pretty tongue, watching those pink lips grow slick and red and swollen with every slide. He sees Oz squirming, sees him touching himself, and he can't help the snap of his hips forward, can't stop even when Oz chokes, though he _tries_.

"Sorry," he whispers, hand tightening in his hair, "I'm sorry, you're so good, you're perfect, god, Oz-I'm going to-"

Sudden panic pulls him back from the edge, the awkward realization that he's only ever done this with Vincent, he's got no _idea_ what's appropriate in this situation, can't imagine himself doing any of the things to Oz that he does to his brother. "I-where do you want me to-"

It's with a gasp that Jack draws back, panting through swollen lips, his breath hot against Gilbert's cock and his tongue dragging wetly over the tip of it, letting Gilbert leak all over his tongue. The taste makes him groan, makes him rut up into his own hand shamelessly, and it's been so long that he honestly doesn't have to fake it all that much. "Want to taste you," he mumbles, skin darkening another shade, and he gropes for Gilbert's hip, trying to drag him forward again. "I-in my mouth, please, I'll take all of it-"

Gil cries out at the sensation, at the sloppy, wet, _slutty_ way Oz is sucking at him-no, never that, Oz is too perfect, to wonderful to be dirtied by even words like that, even if Gil can't control himself now, hips snapping forward to bury his cock in that lovely mouth, swelling harder at the _sight_, at the look of those lips stretched wide around him, the sound of wet choking gasps.

The world spins when he lets go, fifteen years of repressed lust and love taking over as he spills hot and wet on Oz's tongue, filling his mouth and trying, with whatever ragged shreds are left of his mind, not to slam so far down his throat that he chokes. "Oz," he moans, thrusting forward again and again, god, it feels like he'll never be done, "Oz, Oz..."

The sweetest decadence of all is being able to say that beloved name, and know it's _true._

At this point in life, Jack shouldn't gag, shouldn't choke, but _Oz_ would, and so he does, no matter how fast he swallows, coughing as he sucks and licks and laps up every bit of what Gilbert gives him, muffled, desperate groans lost around Gilbert's cock as he thrusts down Jack's throat. His fingers are tight around his own cock, stroking the hard, aching line of it through his trousers, and he gulps, sucking in a sharp breath through his nose as he comes as well, eyes fluttering and body arching, his hips rutting up into his own hand.

It's more difficult to smack away the insistent push and shove of Oz's consciousness like this, coming down from the haze of an orgasm, but Jack manages it, his head lolling back as he licks at his lips, panting as he sags to the floor. "Gil… god, Gil-you're perfect," he hoarsely manages.

It would be childish to say, _No, you are_, but Gil nearly does anyway, trying to catch his breath as he wriggles back down Oz's body. He snakes a hand down between his legs, a brief, startled grunt of disappointment at what he finds, and catches the boy by the wrist, bringing his sticky hand to his mouth. He sucks each finger into his mouth, hungry, needy, mouth watering at the taste he's wanted, craved for so long. When that elegant hand is clean, Gil closes his eyes, pressing a kiss to his palm. "I..."

A single look down at Oz, debauched, flushed, panting and sated, reminds him that this isn't the time to be shy. "I've loved you for so long," he admits, the words like ground glass in his stomach finally being removed.

"Sort of seems like bad timing for this, doesn't it?" is the breathless laugh that Jack manages, even though he wills Oz's lips into a smile, his expression to soften. "I should have told you the same thing… a long time ago, Gilbert. I'm sorry."

It's easy then, far, _far_ to easy, to wriggle just a bit of power into that seal, to crack it apart at the seams so delicately that he doubts Gilbert even notices it, what with how his mind is so focused elsewhere. In Oz's body, Jack sags back to the floor, the smile on his lips wholly sated. "At least it's been said now."

The most genuine smile he's felt in years creases Gil's lips, and he leans down, taking another soft kiss before burying his face in Oz's neck, inhaling deeply as he settles on top of the boy. "Terrible timing," he agrees, that pounding in his head returning now that he's not so focused on other, _much better_ things. "There's nothing to be sorry for. I'm the coward that waited half my life."

"Not a coward," Jack murmurs, dragging his hands up through Gilbert's hair, sighing at the weight of Gilbert's body atop him. "I know I always teased you too much, and called you useless… you really weren't. I'm just… well, I'm pretty good at being a jerk sometimes." The cracking of the seal is nearly _audible_ to him now. Really, he'd like to see Gilbert set that up again, after all of this.

Gilbert tries to smile again, but the throbbing in his head is nearly unbearable. He closes his eyes, trying to will the pain away, but as soon as he does, Raven's dry croak echoes in his head.

Something is wrong.

There's nothing he wants less than to move, but it has to be done, even if he feels as if he's going to pass out with the way each heartbeat drags him down. "I-I have to-"

He stumbles, trying to stand, his heart racing, vision swimming. "I-Oz-I think-something's-"

_Perfect._

A squeak drags itself from Oz's throat, and he pushes himself upright again, grabbing for one of Gilbert's legs instinctively. "Gil-Gil, are you all right?" He turns his gaze upward, eyes wide and concerned. "Whatever it is, it isn't Jack-he hasn't as much as _moved_ since you came here."

Gil blinks hard, trying to clear his vision, but it hardly helps. He nearly trips over Oz's hold, grabbing his head to steady himself as he tries to focus on the seal.

Tries-and fails.

"No, shit, no, no no no no," he mutters, trying to think over the dull, insistent thumping of his heartbeat, and why the _fuck_ is it so loud? He lurches forward, falling against the bars, grasping them hard to stay upright. "I need-Oz, let me go, I have to go get someone who can-"

There's no one, he knows. He's the only one left with the sealing magic since they lost Break, and he's utterly, completely spent.

"Gil, you can't _leave me_ here-"

His fingers uncurl from Gilbert's leg, and though unsteady himself, Jack pulls himself to his feet, exhaling a fast breath. "Just-just get me out of here-maybe it's something with Pandora, maybe the gateways to the Abyss here are reacting to something. The last place I need to be if that's happening is _here_, because Jack could just draw on its power!"

Gil can't think, he can't fucking _think_. There's something wrong with the seal, something wrong with his connection to Raven, and all of it's swirling in his mind, muddying his thoughts. What would be worse to explain to Leo later, taking Oz and his passenger out, or leaving them here when it's not safe?

Can't fucking _think_.

Then again...Oz _had_ said that Jack's been quiet for weeks, and he seems so lost, so frightened-and after what they've just shared, it feels like the basest sort of trickery to leave him where there's danger.

One thing's for sure: this seal is useless now. Gil reaches through the bars, grabbing the keys with the tips of his fingers and unlocking the door. He grabs the manacles from the wall, clicking them into place around Oz's wrists. "Sorry," he mutters, and brushes a last kiss to the boy's mouth. "For your safety as much as ours."

A wry smile curls over his lips, and Jack quickly nods, rather unfazed by the arrangement. "It's fine," he murmurs, wiggling his fingers a bit. "I understand. The last thing you need is someone like Jack running loose, right? Besides, this way I can see Ada in person… can't I?"

Gil wants to be _happy_, wants to be able to focus on the way this is probably the best day of his life, wants even to be able to enjoy bringing Oz into the sunshine for the first time in years.

He can't.

Something is wrong, very, _very_ wrong, and it niggles at him the entire ride to the Nightray mansion, even as he tugs Oz out of the carriage. "I'm just going to put you in the dungeon with her, we've got some spells that will at least handle him for a while," he says under his breath, trying to avoid anyone's notice as he leads Oz up to the side door.

Jack beams-or, well, mostly does, aside from squinting beneath the sunlight that he's not quite used to after the past two years. "That's fine. I hope this doesn't get you in too much trouble-I mean, the whole thing is a mess, anyway…"

They scarcely make it into the mansion before a sharp, bloodcurdling shriek echoes down the hallway, and it's Jabberwock's eyes that appear first in the dim light, glinting in flickering candlelight as it hisses, growls, lunges but doesn't quite attack, not just yet. Jack, though continually unfazed, manages a flinch, stepping backwards and partially behind Gilbert as the chain snarls in their direction.

"_Why_," is the out of breath question, coming from behind Jabberwock's massive form before Leo appears underneath one of the chain's wings, winded as if he's come half-across the mansion to interrupt them (highly likely, that), "is _he _here?"

Gil steps between them, in front of Oz on impulse, holding out his hands. "It's not what you think, Jack's been dormant for _weeks."_

It's hard to stand firm in the face of Jabberwock, harder still to keep it together when Leo looks like he'd like nothing better than to torture someone, and damned if his fucking headache isn't worse than ever. "There was something wrong with the seal at Pandora," he explains, hoping he can at least slow Leo down long enough to get him thinking clearly. "I used up all my power trying to fix it, but it didn't work, and I didn't know where else to take him except the dungons!"

"You're an idiot," comes Leo's shrill retort, and Jabberwock hisses in agreement, talons scraping with a sickening drag over the mansion's floor. "A complete idiot. That isn't _Oz_." He laughs, unable to stop himself at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. "God, Gilbert, maybe you really are fit for nobility. You think with your dick more often than not, just like the rest of them!"

"Rude," Jack sniffs, not bothering to hide the change in his voice that normally comes with his possession of Oz's form now. "To be fair, it took quite a bit of coercing."

Not Oz.

_Not Oz._

That thought pierces through the throbbing ache in his head with all the clarity of a mule's kick, and just about as gentle. He tries to call Raven, but the chain is as sluggish and unresponsive as he feels, and he stumbles back against the carriage, hands pressed to his head. "No...no, there was something _wrong_, there's no _way_ that was-"

Not Oz.

Every little tremble, gasp, touch-fake.

_God, Gil, you're so perfect._

Fake.

The worst part is that this makes more sense than the lie had, and really, he should always have known.

"You seem upset," Jack mildly retorts, sighing as he stretches his arms, frowning down at the manacles binding them. "Really, if it makes you feel any better, Gilbert, you've grown up to be _quite_ the catch."

Gil wants to take a swing at him, nearly does, except he's put Oz's body through enough abuse today, hasn't he?

The truth makes him sick, his stomach roiling as his head throbs, and it drives him to his knees, retching up everything he's eaten, coughing, trembling on the ground, wanting to deny what's happened, knowing he can't.

"Gilbert, get _up_-"

"Ah, and _you_, Glen," Jack purrs, his attention abruptly swiveling to Leo, his smile decidedly darker. "My, but you've gotten _pretty_ in the past couple of years. I've already had one go at it today, but what sort of man would I be if I couldn't enjoy another, hm?"

A mix of anger and disgust flashes over Leo's face, though he clearly shifts backward, wavering where he stands within one of Jabberwock's half-folded wings. "That will be difficult for you to accomplish when you're in your cell once more."

"That isn't going to happen."

The first chain is nearly unavoidable, burying itself within one of Jabberwock's wings before the chain can avoid it, before B-Rabbit's looming shadow as much as appears at Jack's feet. The transference pain of it is enough of a shock to leave Leo reeling, choking on his own breath for a moment, a moment long enough to send another chain out, wrapped about his ankles to drag him down with a yelp.

The screech of grinding teeth and metal follows, bone of an otherworldly hardness crushing and chomping at the chains in question, and Leo uses that scarce moment to drag himself upward, clawing his way back to Jabberwock and subsequently, behind the looming form of Demios and one late arrival of another servant. "Vincent-"

"Gil, summon Raven," Vincent firmly snaps out, chest still heaving from the effort. "Master, stay back, you know B-Rabbit is specialized toward _your_ destruction. This needn't be your fight."

Rarely, if _ever_, has Gil been so glad to see his little brother. The horror of Demios must be at least as terrifying to their enemy as to themselves. Gil feels it when Jack's attention wavers, moving from him to Vincent, because the sick pulsing in his head recedes a bit, letting him delve deeper than he thought possible into his own reserves.

Raven is a massive creature, the largest and most versatile chain of Glen Baskerville, and there's an eerie calm whenever he appears, looming over his contractor. Blue flames leap from his wingtips, advancing on Oz-no, _Jack_-from behind, as Gil shakily drags himself over to his master and his brother, drawing and loading his pistol.

There will be time for apologies and atonements later. Maybe, if Gil is very lucky, there won't be a later, but for now, all that matters is not letting Jack escape again.

"What a welcome," Jack sighs out, turning partially to keep an eye on Raven as B-Rabbit looms not as a shadow any longer, but as its full form, coiling its way around the man's form. "Really, I'd expect better from both of you boys."

Vincent sucks in a steadying breath, a hand reaching behind him to shove Leo back another pace. "Jack, you know you can't do this-"

"Why? Because then you won't get your wish?" His sharp green gaze lids as he focuses his attention only upon Vincent. "Do you want so badly to have never met me?"

"That isn't the _point_," is Vincent's quiet retort. "I want-"

"Don't you remember how I taught you how to play chess, Vincent?" Jack takes a step forward, watching Vincent's muscles twitch, the way the bones of Demios' form crack as its head turns to follow his movements. "You were always such a good student-such an obedient servant. What happened to you, to make you turn against me like this?" His lips twist, smile sad. "I think we both know who your true master is… and if you would just answer to that, you and Gilbert could still be together, with me-"

In the single moment that Vincent hesitates, a chain spirals its way around him, digging its speared end directly into Jabberwock's breast, bringing the chain to scream and thrash, and Leo to double over, vision swimming, breath knocked from his lungs. "Master-"

"Was that for me, or for him?" Jack idly inquires, and the chain twists, digging in deeper as Vincent's attention swivels to Leo, falling back enough to heft the duke up before his knees crumple beneath him, to coax Leo's arms about his neck as Demios lashes out, snapping its jaws at B-Rabbit's chains.

Maybe what hurts more than anything is seeing, with his own eyes, just exactly how obvious it is that the man they'd both idolized so much has not a single qualm. Gil feels it instinctively when Jabberwock is injured, when Leo collapses around Vincent's neck, and steps forward, training his gun on his old master.

He feels it the instant Jack's attention turns back to him, the thudding pulse almost driving him back to his knees. He stands his ground, no matter how his vision swims, no matter how Raven falters, the blue flames rising higher more on reflex than on Gil's orders.

A quick glance to the side isn't enough to reassure him of Leo's condition, and Gil's heart sinks. Vincent and Leo know as well as he does that the black-winged chains are vulnerable to Jack's power, uniquely vulnerable, making them uniquely useless. Demios is strong, but that's just one chain, and next to the B-Rabbit...

It's with a bellow of defiance that the flames part to admit a figure, white and blue and _glowing_ in the dim hallway, leaping through to land with his sword extended, thrust out at Jack's neck, the White Knight standing tall.

For a moment, Jack merely blinks.

It's less surprise and more dealing with the sudden chaos within his head, courtesy of Oz's reeling cacophony of thoughts, and Jack's mouth twists, irritated, as his eyes fall upon Elliot with open disinterest.

"This is a little unorthodox, Glen. Making up for _still_ not having Gryphon?"

"Don't-"

"Maybe if you ask nicely enough," Jack cheerfully interrupts. "Stop clinging to that _failure_ of a servant and show a bit of respect toward your old friend."

When Leo makes no attempt to move-or rather, he does, and Vincent tightens his grasp, refusing to let the man approach-Jack merely shrugs, a finger crooking in a languid command obviously meant for B-Rabbit.

… which simply isn't heeded.

"Really," he dryly begins, blowing a sweaty strand of hair from his face.

_I won't attack Elliot, I won't-_

Any annoyed retort that Jack wants to form towards one _obstinate_ plush doll is promptly cut off when Demios' talons slice into B-Rabbit, as swift and sharp as any execution. The pain is enough to send him reeling, the shock enough to make him retch, and Leo's snap over the thunder of his pulse-"Don't _kill him_, Elliot, just keep him there!"-nearly falls on deaf ears.

What a _joke_ all of this is, Glen and his dumb luck.

His master's word is law.

Elliot bares his teeth, crystal sword flashing through a chain meant for his master as he moves, trusting in the power of his body, of his reflexes. _Just like sparring_, he remind himself, trying not to think of the man as _Oz_. It's hard enough knowing how outclassed he is, though it helps when Vincent attacks. Dimly, before he rests the edge of his blade at the pulse of Oz's throat-_Jack's_ throat, it's not Oz, not his friend-he hears a shout from behind him, and ignores the sound.

It's Gilbert, grabbing Vincent's collar, hauling him up and off his feet as he shouts, "Let him go, you're killing him! Call Demios off!" The panic in his tone is obvious, pathetic, but it's nothing compared to the screams of the B-rabbit. "Elliot has him, _call your chain off!"_

It takes a moment before Gilbert's words click in, before that _desperation_, that fear that Jack could easily, so easily kill Leo and end all chances at having his wish granted fades. Vincent sucks in a hurried breath, some reflex bringing him to smack Gilbert's hand away, and with that brings Demios to withdraw, but only slightly, bones creaking and cracking. "_Don't_," he pants out, eyes wild, "stop me from protecting our master. _Seal him_ or I'm not going to stop."

"Vincent, you're _hurting_ me," Leo bites out at his side, and Vincent's arm loosens, albeit only marginally.

"Elliot, is it?" Jack meanwhile inquires, his next swallow careful, mindful of the chain's blade. "Or is your name something else now, as a chain? An interesting choice to bring back a _pet_-I wonder if Oswald ever used this ability," he muses.

Elliot's eyes narrow, and he steps forward, no matter that he keeps his blade steady at the man's throat. "I don't know who Oswald is, but I'm Elliot Nightray, the White Knight. _You're_ the reason my family was looked down on for a hundred years," he spits, blue fire blazing around him, though the crystal sword doesn't move a fraction of an inch. "And on top of that, you're causing a hell of a lot of trouble for one of my best friends!"

Every step is a painful lurch as Gil hauls himself around behind Jack, clinging to Raven with each motion. "Hold that blade steady," he says quietly to Elliot. "Jack, if you don't let me seal you again, I'm going to shoot you in the legs. Oz will live, but you won't be going anywhere for a while."

He wraps one hand around, laying it on Jack's forehead, the movement so very familiar. "Your choice."

"… You'd like that, wouldn't you, Gilbert?" It's almost compulsive, the low purr that Jack tosses back to Gilbert. "No where for me-or Oz, rather-to run. What a perfect opportunity for _you_ to make use of this body. Would it bother you more to know that he really is identical to me, especially now, at this age?"

Gilbert blazes with anger almost as brightly as the White Knight, the barrel of the pistol digging hard into the young man's back. God, but it's torture to have him so close, the heady scent of him still so fresh, knowing it had all been a _lie_, and he's a lot closer than he wants to be to shoving him forward onto the White Knight's blade. His voice is shaking, but his hand is steady as he grinds out, "Make up your mind. I can't hold Vincent back for much longer."

Jack merely _smiles_, sweet and bright and knowing exactly how well it mimics Oz. "Seal me," is his simple retort. "I'm sure you and Oz have quite a bit to discuss, anyway."

Maybe Gil will be lucky. Maybe sealing Jack again will kill him.

God, he hopes so.

It _hurts_ to reach for the last of Raven's power, slamming it through his ungloved hand, using far more strength than finesse at this point and hardly caring. He locks the spirit down as hard as he can, throwing up shield after shield, trying to put in enough to make him _stay down_ this time, knowing that ultimately, it'll be as fruitless as the last.

The last lock shuttering into place is the last thing he pictures before he collapses to the ground.

Elliot lets him fall, sword held steady at Oz's throat as he searches his old friend's face, looking for some sign, _any_ sign that he is who he appears to be. "Master?" he calls, not looking over his shoulder. "How will we know?"

"Elliot, you're not dead-but _how_-"

"It's Oz," Leo wearily retorts, slumping within Vincent's hold before squeaking indignantly as adrenaline simply brings Vincent to scoop him up and toss him over his shoulder.

"Take this-I mean, please attend to our master," Vincent mutters, depositing Leo within Elliot's hold before he is fully ready to accept such a 'parcel.' "I need to tend to my brother, or we'll be facing this same thing all over again. Stay put," he flatly orders Oz, who makes to turn around and lurch towards Gilbert himself.

There's a moment when Elliot's not sure what the hell's going on, but that kind of thing is really all too common these days. The important things are clear, so he scrambles to accept his burden, carefully sheathing his sword as he tucks Leo into his arms. "I'm a chain," he says to Oz, and grins, willing to accept Leo's word for Oz being Oz. "I hear that's something we have in common now, eh, Shorty?"

"I'm _not_-" Well, it's around that point that Oz realizes for all the inches he might have grown, Elliot has trumped him once again. Oz growls, hands balling into fists. "You're not even fair. I'm taller than Leo still."

"Will you put me down? I'm not an invalid," Leo interrupts with a snort, wriggling his way out of Elliot's hold to land on his own two feet. He tries not to sway, no matter how he still feels winded and dizzy, and barely spares Oz a frown before glancing in Vincent's direction. "See to it that your brother actually remains in one piece. I'll take Oz to the dungeons myself."

Oz's face falls, his gaze flicking back towards Gilbert for a moment before he flushes hot and glances down. "… I'm really sorry… that all of this happened. I-"

"Save it."

"But-"

"The Vessalius family making my life a living hell is nothing new at this point."

Oz tries not to cringe, and fails miserably.

"Hey."

Elliot claps Oz on the back, obeying what he's pretty sure is an unspoken order and falling in between Oz and Leo. "You're not gonna give up, right? I mean, that wouldn't fix anything."

He can't help but watch Vincent out of the corner of his eye, tracing his movements as he bends over Gilbert, remembering just how Leo had been clinging to him, held in his brother's arms.

"… You really aren't any different, are you?" Oz curiously replies rather than outright answering, tilting his head up to watch Elliot through his bangs as they walk. "Other than being _stupidly_ tall. And really handsome-and you're still such a good dresser-"

"Still likes you," Leo sighs underneath his breath, _almost_ cracking a smile in spite of himself.

"Hey, blame Leo!" Elliot accuses, though it's Oz that he gives a shove to, refusing cut him any slack just because he's a chain, or handcuffed, or being led to a dungeon. "I was just a...I don't know, whatever I was in the Abyss, he's the one that went down and wished so hard I had to come back." He looks down at himself, shrugging. "I don't mind, though. Turned out for the best, didn't it?"

There might be a hint of a sly wink accompanying the last bit, for Leo's eyes alone.

"Weird," Oz huffs, as if his own circumstances are absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.

"Here we are," Leo interrupts, stepping aside after hauling open the heavy door. "Keep your sister company. You'll be escorted back to Pandora later."

"But-"

"Oz, do you really have to make this harder than it has to be?"

Sometimes, Leo can sound like a snippy old governess. Oz's head ducks as he steps inside, turning back around briefly to catch Elliot's gaze for a moment longer. "… Check on Gilbert for me, will you? He's-not going to be okay, whenever he wakes up."

That, more than anything he's seen sets alarm bells ringing in Elliot's head. It might just be Oz being overly concerned, but Elliot's known Gilbert for a damned long time, longer than Oz has, and he knows just how tough his big brother can be. "I'll check up on him," he promises, and claps Oz on the shoulder again. "Don't give up, Shorty. I'll come visit you again soon, chain to chain."

"Okay," is the quiet response, and Oz hopes it doesn't sound _too_ small and pathetic as Leo heaves the door shut again, with the heavy turn of locks following.

Sleep is supposed to bring peace.

If not peace, then dreams.

If not dreams, then at least a brief, blessed surcease of the world, just for hours, minutes, seconds.

Gilbert's sleep brings none of that. He's no less tense, no less agonized than when his eyes had closed, when they finally open again. If anything, the memories are even fresher when he does claw his way into wakefulness.

Many times before, he's thought that everything hurt, upon waking. Now, he realizes how lucky he's been, all those times-stabbed, clawed, shot, beaten, thrown off cliffs, he's never woken up feeling like this, battered bloody and bruised from the inside. Even feeling Raven inside his head hurts, as if the chain has suffered as much as he has, though he really doubts that.

He doesn't need to look to see who's next to his bed. It could only have been one of two people, and this is the one he needs to get out of the way first.

Slowly, with every motion feeling like his bones are held together with long red-hot nails, Gil hauls himself into a seated position. He doesn't speak, head bowed, knees bent, shoulders drooping. He remembers Oz's smile, shaky and uncertain and eager, and tastes bile in his mouth.

"Lie back down, Gilbert."

Leo's voice is no less weary, as if he's been seated there for some time, catching little sleep himself no matter how he's fashioned himself something of a cocoon out of his cloak. The Nightray mansion is always cold-far too cold for his liking, and nothing he does seems to remedy this, no matter how many fires he lights or windows he closes.

"And tell me what happened, assuming your voice still works after all of that."

Gilbert does as he's told. He has no stomach for rebellion today, and no reason to bother getting up.

He remembers counting the cracks on the ceiling, during long days of being locked in his room as some "hilarious prank" by Ernest and Claude, seeing how long they could keep him and sometimes Vincent inside without food before the Duke noticed. He traces the cracks with his eyes now, noting the ones that have grown. Not much has changed.

"I went to Pandora," he says dully. "I got Ada her proof. I tried to put more power into the seal, but something went wrong. I tried to fix it. Jack...tricked me. I believed he was Oz. He manipulated me into bringing him here. That's all."

He coughs, though it doesn't help the odd rasping croak in his voice. "I don't really care what you do to me, Master. Kill me, cast me into the Abyss, whatever you like."

"… I'm not going to kill you," comes Leo's eventual sigh, and he leans forward, his chin atop his knees. "But you realize now, I hope, why I didn't want you to be around him so much. Jack… he doesn't care about you if you're in his way. The only thing he sees is his end goal."

"Yes, Master. I understand," Gil says flatly, staring at the ceiling. He tries not to be disappointed that Leo won't kill him. He fails.

"That being said," Leo lowly drawls, "if you keep acting like this, you aren't doing him any favors, either."

Gil starts to reach for a cigarette, then remembers he's out. Ah, well. That's fitting. "I very much doubt it matters." _It's not like I'll ever be able to face him again._

Leo goes silent for a moment before he shifts, chair creaking beneath him. "All I am saying," he murmurs, "is that he is still alive, at the very least. He's the same Oz that you've always known. If you want him to stay that way, then you shouldn't act like you've already killed him." Another shift, and he sets a pack of cigarettes on the edge of the bed. "Vincent stole them. Something about them being unhealthy… you're a Baskerville, what's it matter?"

_He's not the same, because I ruined him, Jack and I ruined everything he and I had._ Gil slowly takes a cigarette, lighting it up, though it doesn't calm his nerves. His nerves aren't high-strung in any case. Everything is low, steady, an inch from stopping. "He won't want my help. If you have a job for me, make sure it keeps me away from him."

He doesn't quite keep his voice from catching on that sentence.

"As soon as you're able, you can escort him back to Pandora," Leo replies instead, slowly rising to his feet and huddling himself deeper into his cloak at the same time. "You're the only one that can, after all."

Gil doesn't answer. All he can think is whether he'll be able to lay the proper seal and endure the whole carriage ride without meeting Oz's eyes, because he's sure he won't be able to.

Finally, he croaks, "Tomorrow. I'd do it tonight, but Jack...he damaged my connection with Raven. I'm fixing it."

A shrug follows. "Take your time. He seems to be making Elliot a bit happier, anyway." Leo hesitates, rocking on his heels for a moment. "Gilbert… the reason I'm not just taking Raven from you and dealing with this myself is because-well. I don't really know-" _Yes I do, it's because I'm hoping you won't screw up like I did and also because there's some Glen in my damned head that likes you and even if you're so incompetent that I want to kill you at times I just can't_. "But just… don't mess up again."

If Leo's looking for gratitude for not giving Gilbert the death sentence, he's going to be sorely disappointed. Gil just crushes his cigarette out, going back to staring at the ceiling. "As you wish, Master."

And before Leo leaves, a perfect miniature of Jabberwock rears its head, snapping its jaws into one of the sheets beneath Gilbert to promptly yank it-and subsequently Gilbert-off of the bed. "Also," Leo cheerfully offers upon exit, "stop _moping_ and don't forget about my dress."


	8. Chapter 8

Oz is amazed he gets to stay this long.

Admittedly, it's barely over a day and a half, but being able to see Ada again, to actually talk to her and touch her-that's more than he ever bargained for, and so for that, he supposes he does have to begrudgingly thank Jack. If not for his insistence on stirring things up-again-he wouldn't have had a chance to see her again.

Then again, the other half of Jack's actions only seem to make things worse.

Case and point is Gilbert, and Oz finds himself, at current, in a locked carriage with the man, squirming a bit with every second that passes by in awkward, tense silence, and if he knows _anything_ about Gil right now, it's that silence is perhaps the worst possible thing.

"… Are you still going to be allowed to visit me?" he finally blurts out. It's about as neutral as he can get, right?

"No."

Even grinding out that one word makes Gil's stomach churn, though he's committed to seeing this through. This, at least, he can do, before he returns to the Nightray mansion. Leo will be a better contractor for Raven, he's sure. Then it'll be as it should have been a hundred years ago, and maybe even Vincent will feel like giving up his poisonous dream.

Gil sure as hell feels like giving up.

He doesn't meet Oz's eyes, sick and terrified and ashamed of what must be there. He just watches the scenery roll by as he explains dully, "I'll seal you in. The next time someone comes, you'll be put to sleep first."

Ugh. The thought of it makes Oz feel sick, because he _knows_ how lonely it already is. Missing even a shred of human contact at this point is enough to make his stomach twist, and he glances to the side, swallowing hard. "Oh. Not that I can blame you guys for… not taking chances, and all of that."

And yet still, he has to ask. "Do you hate me? I mean, after what happened-I-you know I wish I could have said that it wasn't _me_, but there wasn't anything I could do, and… you're mad at me, aren't you."

More than anything he's heard in the last couple days, that startles, Gilbert, and he jerks upright, finally making eye contact for a brief second before looking down, as if the shame won't let him hold his head up for longer. "I could never hate you. It wasn't you. It was Jack. And me. But you won't have to worry about that again."

_No matter how much I want to stay by your side forever, because now I know I don't deserve even that._

"… How was _any_ of that your fault?" Oz exasperatedly replies, leaning forward with a frown. "Leo better not have told you that. Look, Gil, it's _okay_ if you're upset with me-a lot happened and this whole situation… I mean, it's not like I can do anything to make it easier, Jack is just…"

All Gil can do is stare, incredulous. "How is it...how is any of it _not_ my fault? I'm the one who let him trick me. I'm the one who took you out of there. I'm the one who-"

Well, it's not as though he's got the right to be a blushing maiden about it now, not after what he's put Oz through. "I'm the one who...made you do those things when you didn't want to. Leo's right to blame me."

Oz's face reddens and he sinks back once more. "I think we all know by now how manipulative Jack can be. _No one_ is immune to it, so you can't say it's your fault when anyone else would have fallen for the same thing. And the rest… well, ah, you're certainly a lot more enthusiastic in bed than I ever thought you'd be, but that's, um, not really a problem."

Gil chokes at that, cheeks gone pale as he clutches at the seat. He still aches inside from the backlash of his seals being shattered, but this...

"I-"

_Enthusiastic?_

"I never-"

_Not a problem..._

Is there a chance, no matter how slim, that Oz actually doesn't hate him?

"But-you _have_ to know-" Somehow he's on his knees in the carriage, looking desperately up at the boy. "You _have_ to know I never would have-done _any_ of that if I knew-I'd rather die than hurt you, Oz."

The wide, green-eyed blink that follows seems rather confused at Gilbert stating the obvious for what feels like the umpteenth time. "I know that. You didn't hurt me, though… other than the imprint of that gun on my back, I still have a bruise," he complains before adding with a wry grin: "I was hoping you'd kiss it better, but you've been too busy moping. Geez, Gil, I thought we were past this."

"But..." This doesn't make _sense_. "But I betrayed you. I-I should never have, have _used_ you like that."

God, they have been here before, haven't they? Except at least back then, he'd had some semblance of propriety, keeping those feelings buried, keeping them locked away where they belong. "Even if you can forgive me for what I did, I should never have said what I did."

"… There's not really anything to forgive," Oz reiterates on a sigh, lifting his hands with the clink of his chains to rub at the bridge of his nose. "And what are you even talking about? The… uh… sex part? I don't remember a lot of what you said, but I'll go ahead and admit that I haven't exactly given the number of, um, _services_ that Jack has in his lifetime, so I can't exactly vouch for my prowess in that area or if you were complaining or-"

Oh god, there has to be a way to erase the last few seconds, there _has_ to, because hearing those words coming from Oz's lips...

"N-no!" Gil fairly yelps, scrambling backward until he's seated somewhat properly on the seat once more. His face is so red it hurts as he babbles, "I-it was-I mean, more than fine, it was better than I'd ever-not that I'd thought about-it was always me, should have been me, you don't belong on your knees to-"

He clears his throat, on the verge of nervous laughter, and wrestles the hysteria down. "I didn't mean that, anyway. I just-you don't have to-just don't worry about it, okay? The-what I said after. I know you didn't mean what Jack said, so-"

Oz's brow furrows in confusion for a moment longer before it _clicks._"Oh. _Oh!_ After. Right. Why would I worry about _that?_ I've known about you loving me for a long time."

The sound Gil makes is highly undignified, but it's nothing compared to the _face_ he makes, part horror, part shock, all confusion. "But-but I-but _how_-"

A light shrug follows. "You're not exactly subtle, you know. That being said, you never said anything, so I figured you wanted it to be a secret."

A sound akin to a whimper comes out, and Gil finds himself wishing he were a child again, just so he could curl up and not have to face anyone, burying his head in his knees. As it is, he slumps forward, head in hands. "I...I'm sorry. I never meant to." God, what Oz must think of him.

"You're giving me a headache," Oz grumbles, stretching out one leg to promptly kick Gilbert in the knee. "Why are you apologizing? I'm not mad, I don't hate you. I was asking you if you were mad at _me_ or hated _me_, you know!"

Gilbert scowls, rubbing his knee, shoving him back on reflex. "It's not exactly normal, you know! I mean-you're my master, I'm your servant, and we're both _men_. I know it's wrong, and I didn't want you to know I'm some kind of..."

"Pervert?" Oz mildly suggests, looking decidedly unfazed. "Look, Gil. Let me just set you straight. I don't hate you. You're still my best friend. And I think we both know… that this is probably the worst possible time to _ever_ talk about relationship-type things, considering I'm a chain and technically in _prison._"

The relief that courses through Gil is palpable, taking a painful weight off of his soul, and he hisses out a breath, sagging back against the seat. "Yeah," he says quietly, with a little nod. "Look, I-even if you don't, if you never feel anything like that, I'll never stop wanting to..."

Protect you. Help you. Be by your side.

But Oz is willing to let it go as a flaw in _timing_, of all things. It's more of an escape than he'd ever thought he'd get. "We can...talk about it later, though. When we've taken care of Jack. Right?"

Relief floods Oz's own expression, and he nods earnestly. "After we've taken care of Jack. Until then… try not to stress over it, okay? I don't hate you." It's something that he knows he's going to have to repeat three or four times until it really clicks in Gilbert's head. "And you know, if I wasn't going to be put to sleep whenever you come to check the seals… I wouldn't have minded maybe fooling around…" _I've been locked in a dungeon for two years, human contact is a good thing._

Gil's mouth is suddenly dry, the blood draining from his head to somewhere decidedly lower. "Y-you can't just-you don't even-look, I _know_ you like girls!"

The look on Oz's face is positively indignant. "Yeah, so? Are you really turning me down?"

"I-no! God, Oz, you can't just say stuff like that as a joke. It's not very nice," Gil finishes in a mutter, folding his arms.

Oz huffs as he flops backward against the wall of the carriage. "Do you not think I'm pretty, is that it?" _Now_ he just can't help but mess with Gilbert.

For all that it's horrifying, it's familiar, being tormented by his old master, and Gilbert can't help but squawk. "That's-I never said that! You're making things up!"

"Everyone says I am." Oz's head tips to the side. "All the guards that come down there say it all the time, it's kind of creepy."

"What? What guards?" Gil's hand goes to his gun before he thinks, eyes blazing in defense of his master, of the idea that anyone might _dream_ of staring at Oz or possibly doing _more_.

"… Well, they aren't exactly here right now, so you can stop grabbing at your gun," Oz drawls, openly amused. "Gil, calm down already. I'm just teasing you."

Gil huffs out a breath, sinking down lower in his seat. "This is as bad as that time you locked me in the cabinet with Ada's kitten." It's the same thing, when it comes down to it. Learning about his fear of cats, learning about this-there are reasons, and good ones, that he's kept his secrets hidden for more than a decade.

Oz tries not to laugh at that, though it's difficult. "Just calm down already," he sighs, leaning backwards. "Stop being such a giant ball of stress. I don't hate you-" That's at least the third time, isn't it? "So you don't have anything to worry about. I am going to be mad if you don't bring me chocolate like you promised, though."

"Of course I'll bring you chocolate," Gil mutters, even his nose turning pink now. "I was going to cook you something when you were at Pandora, but..."

_But I thought you hated me._

"I won't let him out again," he says instead, looking up suddenly. "You'll have to trust me. I won't be able to see you until Leo figures this out, but trust that I'm trying to help you."

"God, it's going to be even more boring," Oz mumbles, his lower lip jutting in an open pout. Better to talk about how boring it is rather than how lonely, lest Gilbert worry even more.

"You think that's bad, try being stuck at Nightray Manor," Gil grumbles, wincing as he remembers that he's got to stop in town on his way back to pick up a lot of purple brocade.

"You have people to talk to, at least!" Oz protests. "And _Elliot's_ back-how could you possibly be bored?"

"Elliot is-" Gil bites his lip on someone else's secret. It wouldn't do to start a chain reaction of revealing exactly what others get up to in Nightray Manor, after all. Leo knows far too much that could seriously change Oz's opinion of him. "Busy," he finishes instead, lamely. "Today is only the third time I've seen him, Leo doesn't summon him very often around other people."

Oz nods slowly. "After all that's happened, I'm not surprised Leo would want him all to himself… still, you're his brother. You should ask Leo if you can talk to Elliot sometime, it might do you some good."

"Maybe," Gil allows. Maybe if they could talk when they weren't doing errands for the Baskervilles, fighting for the Baskervilles, planning for the Baskervilles, it would be different. He'd like that, probably. "Did you get a chance to talk to him? I know he's been wanting to see you, talk about chain stuff."

"… Not really," Oz admits, his pout quickly resurfacing. "I think Leo must've been too wary to let him come back. I guess I can't blame him, after the stunt Jack pulled… and Elliot's such a new chain-" His expression twists wryly. "The last thing he needs to do is deal with B-Rabbit. Then Leo would _really_ never get him back."

Gil winces at that, nodding. He hesitates, then leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "Oz...you know that, even now, I can't trust a hundred percent that you're not Jack. And after yesterday, I'll probably never be sure until this is over."

"Which is exactly what Jack wanted, no doubt." Oz sighs, offering little more than a shrug. "I don't blame you. There's nothing we an do but get rid of Jack faster, right?"

Despite everything-the lies, the murders, the betrayals, the manipulations, the cruelty-something tucked deep inside Gilbert flinches at the idea of getting rid of Jack. It's worse since the veil had lifted from his memories, letting him remember Vincent, but bringing with it the memory of that golden smile, those happy days in Sablier with his first master.

Of course, Jack is responsible for taking that away from him, too-but he's still the one who picked him and Vincent up off the streets, brought them somewhere they'd be treated properly for the first time in years, where he didn't have to steal or starve, where no one hurt them.

He sighs, tilting his head back against the carriage wall. "Right, Oz."

Really, this is beneath even _Gilbert's_ dignity.

He'd sucked up his own pride and made the damned dress, though, and Leo _had_ seemed approving enough, at the end of the day. There are only a few minor details to change, and for those, he needs another fitting. "I wouldn't need to do so much work while it's on you if you'd modeled for me earlier," he complains, sticking a few pins in his mouth as he adjusts the piping in the back. "Just hold still, I need to make sure it's sitting right before I take up the hem."

_Again_.

His master is a petite little thing, after all.

"If you had taken my measurements correctly in the first place-" Leo cuts himself off with a huff of breath, his face _burning_ as he crosses his arms tightly over his chest, head ducked reflexively as if he still has the fall of his hair to hide beneath. It's one thing if he's doing this-_wearing this_ for Elliot. Even knowing from the start that Gilbert would have to see him in this dress at least once, it doesn't make it any more pleasant; this was for Elliot, only Elliot, and really, the whole thing was just… embarrassing.

Sometimes, he needs to stop having ideas.

"Just hurry up already." At least Gilbert wasn't crying on him.

"I _did_ take your measurements correctly," Gil retorts, giving a lightning-quick baste to the overlay surrounding the back paneling. "It's just impossible to tell how you're going to breathe in it. Are you going to be wearing a corset underneath? That would change the fit."

He's rather impressed that he's managing to say such things with a straight face but hell, this whole debacle was hardly _his_ idea.

"Probably?" Too many questions. He hasn't thought _that_ far ahead, anyway! "I mean-if Elliot-never mind, things you don't need to know," Leo mutters.

Actually, this is sort of fun. Gil is beginning to see what kind of glee Oz takes out of tormenting him, watching Leo blush and stammer. "Master," he says, trying to look as innocent as possible, "I can't fulfill your wishes if you don't tell me. If I make it for a corset and you don't wear one, you'll be bursting at the seams."

Oz would look good in a corset, the sudden thought comes to him, and his finger nearly slips on one of the pins.

"Oh, just make it for one already!" Leo snaps, face absolutely flaming, his shoulders hunching in an attempt to compensate for lack of something to hide in. "And stop _smirking_, this isn't a joke."

Gil forces the smile off his face, then slips a pin in to mark where he'll take the waist in for the corset. Not too far, not if Leo isn't wearing one all the time, and it's pretty obvious he isn't, deviant pervert though he is.

"Done back here, master. Could you step on the crate so I can see to the hem?"

Unbidden, the image of Oz in a maid's uniform surfaces. He'd looked so _cute_, and for a moment, Gil hadn't been ashamed to tell him.

Scowling, Leo gingerly does as he's told, a fleeting glance stolen to the nearby window. Really, if they didn't need the light, he'd have the curtains drawn already-knowing the rest of this damned family, they were probably _spying_ him. Or at least, Vincent probably was.

"… Just keep your mind on this and get it done and over with," Leo mutters, shifting uncomfortably. At least with Elliot being his chain, he didn't have to worry about the idiot waltzing in unannounced and making this even more awkward.

Hmm, this brings up another question. Gil kneels at Leo's feet, tugging gently on some of the ruffles, making certain that all the gathers sit as well as they're intended. "Master, what shoes do you intend to wear? How much heel are you planning on showing? It _does_ make a difference."

Leo nearly puts his foot into Gilbert's face. "I-" The flush starts to creep down to his neck. "You know, I don't intend to do much _walking_ in this thing."

God, Gil really can't help but smirk at that, even with the pins in his mouth. At least he manages to refrain from making a comment about how his time will be spent on his back, though it's a near thing. "As you wish," he says instead, choking down the laugh, and shortens the hem another inch.

A little growl wells from Leo's throat, and he gives into the urge to lift one foot, jabbing it pointedly into Gilbert's shoulder. "I already told you not to _laugh._ What I do in my free time isn't any of your business, anyway; all you have to do is do as you're told!"

Gil ducks his head, as much to hide the sudden flush of his face as to bend to the task of underpinning the petticoat. It's far, far too easy to imagine being on his knees for Oz instead, feeling one of _his_ boots shoving at him, and really, these images _shouldn't_ be so damned hard to get rid of, he's not a damned teenager anymore. "Sorry, Master," he mutters, knee-walking over to the other side.

"Good," Leo mutters, his arms stiffly folding again. He watches Gilbert out of the corner of his eye, not terribly inclined to meet the man's gaze, but hoping perhaps a bit of a stare will encourage him to hurry the hell up, anyway. "… You've done this far more often than you like to let on," he accuses.

Leo's stare is _not_ making this any easier. Gil is starting to feel decidedly uncomfortable under it as he admits, "When I first arrived at the Vessalius household, the seamstress took me under her wing. Master Oz had a lot of lessons that a common-born orphan couldn't be expected to understand, so..."

"I expected you to tell me you had made _him_ something along these lines," Leo drawls, an eyebrow arching.

"Oz isn't a pervert," Gil snaps before he thinks better of it.

Leo stares directly at him now. "So I am?"

Gil swallows hard, then rephrases. "Oz doesn't like wearing women's clothing," he tries, though god, the memory of him in that maid's uniform is enough to make an uncomfortable situation even worse.

"… But you wish he was," Leo deduces, one corner of his mouth turning up into a faint smirk. "So that makes you a pervert, too, doesn't it, Gilbert?"

Oz had looked so cute, so innocent and winsome in that outfit, yet with that blushing, protesting face-

It's all too easy to imagine him in an outfit like this-maybe with shoes even higher-maybe looking down on him just as Leo is now.

Gil clears his throat, shifting forward in what he hopes is a subtle attempt to turn his bottom half away as he pins up the hem. "I just want Oz to wear whatever suits him best."

"So if Oz wears it, it's because it suits him," the younger man sniffs, cocking his head to the side. "But if I do, I'm a pervert? Aren't you a rude servant."

"Sorry," Gil mutters. Then again, it isn't terribly hard to remember a dozen scenes or more from the Nightray Manor, even during the brief time they'd all been together, that he'd seen Leo with his nose in a book with a too-plain cover, or seen him sneaking into Elliot's room after dark. "Of course I'd never imagine calling you such a thing. I'm sure no one would."

"Except you just did, five minutes ago," Leo moodily sighs, shifting to pointedly jab Gilbert with his toe again. "I should make you apologize for that more profusely. Then again, you might _like that_, considering how red-faced you already are."

Shit, this is the kind of thing Gil really doesn't want to talk about, doesn't want to be _obvious_ about, doesn't really understand himself. "I just-you're talking about embarrassing things," he blusters, hunching over farther, trying not to enjoy the prod of his master's boot.

It's a miracle Gilbert can see when he's curled into a ball like that-and obviously, he can't very well, considering how the next pinprick nicks into Leo's skin. It doesn't hurt, not really, but it's enough to bring the reflex of the back of his hand smacking across Gilbert's face, a sharp enough slap to leave skin reddened in its wake. "Focus on your work, then. If you prick me with another pin-ah, I shouldn't threaten you, should I? You're already in a poor enough state."

Gil's face _burns_.

Not just with the slap-though Leo hits _hard_, sending a wave of sharp clear pain shooting through him, and Gil sucks in a breath, flinching away. It's usually been Vincent on the other end of Leo's rages like this, and Gil has to wonder, with the tiny part of his mind not currently flustered from Leo seeing his cock tenting his pants at the rough treatment, whether Vincent has the same reaction.

"I-sorry, Master, I'll just-" he mutters, making to rise and hurry away.

"Sit back down."

It's fun again, now that he isn't the one flustered and being teased (as much as Gilbert is able to tease a person, anyway). Leo twists slightly, frowning down at his dress. "Are you finished? You probably should double-check, so you don't have to make more alterations later."

It's _only_ because he's so recently been such a disappointment to his master that Gil does as he's told, slowly kneeling back down at Leo's feet. Even being forced to stay is affecting him, in this state, and he bites his lip, bending to his task. He swallows hard, hoping that at least Leo won't make it any worse. "It looks straight from down here."

"Good." Leo pauses, glancing down, his lips curving into a slow smirk. "Then-" His fingers curl into his skirts, hiking them up just slightly so that he can better lift one leg, propping his booted foot against Gilbert's shoulder and leaning his weight down against him. As small as he is, it isn't much, but it's enough pressure to remind Gilbert that he's there, that he's essentially using the man as a footrest while he kneels at his master's feet. "Would you prefer to help me out of this… or just stay down there, behaving yourself?"

Gil's breath catches, and he finds himself leaning into the foot, just a little, enough to make it ache. He starts to rise, then sternly reminds himself who he's dealing with, and stops, confused. "I...I don't think that's very appropriate, Master."

"What isn't? Staying where you're put, or helping me change?" Leo's head tips to the side, his heel languidly grinding into Gilbert's shoulder. "If it's the latter, then I suppose I'll just call Vincent in to help. You can stay right where you are, like a good servant."

"N-no!" His knees are starting to hurt from being down here for so long, not to mention his shoulder, not to mention the throbbing of his cock between his legs. "I'll help, please don't call Vincent in when I'm-"

"When you're what?" His voice drops, a little breathy husk as he smirks openly. "This turned on?" Leo's weight shifts, his foot dragging from Gilbert's shoulder to nudge at his throat. "I haven't even done anything, Gilbert. Or maybe that's just it-you'd rather get off on sitting at someone's feet, being their little _pet._ I gave Elliot a collar, you know. Maybe I should get you something similar, if you're really well-behaved."

There's no stopping the groan that wells up in Gil's throat, or the way he lurches forward, hand twitching from the desire to press up between his legs, and it's a close, close thing that he avoids it. His thoughts are swirling, chaotic, a confused jumble of things he hadn't even known he wanted, images of being leashed and chained and _kept_. He wants to say something, to protest something about how Leo's his little brother's lover and this is _all sorts of improper_, but he can't make out a single word, head tilting back to expose his throat, lips parting as he looks up helplessly at his Master.

It's actually kind of disturbing how good Gilbert looks on his knees.

Leo swallows, a shove pushing Gilbert back just slightly, even as Leo bends, just enough to fist a hand into the other man's hair. "You're certainly being good _now_," he murmurs, and it's with a hum that he elegantly drops himself down to sit on the crate, one leg extended to drag his booted foot down Gilbert's chest, stomach, nudging at the inside of his thigh. "Why don't you tell me what you want as a reward? Or is sitting here at my feet like a dog good enough for you?" Leo's eyebrows arch. "Because that's all you are, Gilbert. My dog."

This is a thousand kinds of wrong, perverted, depraved, and damned if Gil feels up to stopping it. That insistent pressure is close, close to something he wants, and even the idea of how _wrong_ it is doesn't make him any less hard. If anything, it just makes his cock swell more. He strains a little at the hand in his hair, but it would be lying to himself if he didn't admit that he just likes to feel the pull, the tug of Leo's hand on it, especially when it hurts.

"I..."

His knees shift just slightly, splaying a few inches farther apart, even as he shudders at the humiliation of it. "N-nothing that could-I don't want to hurt Elliot-" Because his little brother is the best of them, always has been, and there's love purer than any Gil has ever felt in his eyes when he looks at his old servant.

But oh, he _aches_.

"Then," Leo murmurs, the toe of his boot pushing against the inside of Gilbert's thigh, splaying them further apart and rather liking the way Gilbert shivers from it, "I won't lay another hand on you. You're right, Elliot needn't be hurt by what a pervert _you_ are… nor do I want my hands dirty in the first place. You can do the work yourself."

"...M-master?" Gil asks, husky, confused. His hands tremble, and he doesn't dare reach for his pins, never knowing what they'll wind up sticking next if he tries to do anything in this state. "What work...?"

If someone were to see him like this-

If _Oz_ were to see him like this, splayed out and hard and only getting more worked up with ever condescending, disdainful sneer that falls from Leo's lips-

He wonders if Oz would laugh at him. Worse, that only makes him harder.

"Do I really need to spell it out for you?" His foot comes to press between Gilbert's legs, dragging along the hard outline of his cock. "You and your brother both… you're really not any better from every other filthy noble, are you? I didn't even touch you, and you're like this. Touch yourself, I want to see how _easy_ you are."

Gil's not completely sure that this is something Elliot would be fine with, really.

Then again, he's a lot more sure that he can't refuse.

With a low shudder, Gil does as he's told, groaning as he pulls his cock free of his trousers, his other hand raking his hair back from his face. He can't look up to meet Leo's eyes, looks down instead, watching his own long pale fingers squeezing and stroking over the length of his hard, flushed cock.

Leo leans back, then, weight resting on his hands as his legs cross at the ankle. Drawing a slow breath, watching Gilbert's fingers squeeze and drag slickly from root to tip, he lowly orders: "Tell me what you're thinking of… or is it a who? Oz, maybe, prettied up in a dress like this?"

Gil's hips jerk up into his hand, and he hisses out a breath, nodding quickly. Oz would look better in the dress than Leo does, he thinks wistfully, though he'd alter it to show off the boy's assets, some shade that brought out his eyes-

"Oz," he confesses in a whisper. "Talking-like that, to me." He ducks his head, and the last part is almost inaudible. "The-collar. Like you..."

"Oh, so you liked that idea?" Leo's voice is laced with mocking laughter. "You're the worst. All you want is to kneel at his feet all day, a pretty collar around your neck and a leash on his finger. I bet he'd pull on it, yank it so hard that you can barely breathe. Maybe he'd sit there and watch you jerk off, just like I am." He leans in closer, his gaze lidded. "He's probably nicer, though. I bet he'd actually let you come."

Gilbert moans, every word dripping from Leo's lips shooting straight to his cock. He pumps it slowly, twisting his hand, squeezing the head, rubbing his thumb over the fluid dripping freely now, trying to be good and take his time, because it doesn't sound like Leo will appreciate it if he rushes.

He can imagine it so well, everything Leo's voice conjures up. Kneeling at Oz's feet, knees bruised and cramped from holding the position for hours, being led around like a pretty little pet by a strip of leather around his neck, slapped and punished and mocked, and none of this should be nearly so arousing, should make him thrust up into the stroke of his hand so much. "Please," he begs, head bowing in surrender. "I'm-master, it _hurts_-"

"Whore," Leo mutters, a hand fisting its way back through Gilbert's hair, fingers twisting in close to his scalp to wrench his head back. "That's all you are, aren't you? All you _want_ to be?"

His palm connects solidly with the side of Gilbert's face again, sharp and swift and Leo knows that probably, it would have been enough to send the man reeling, if not for his hold still tight within Gilbert's hair. "Come all over yourself, then, if you're that pathetic."

Gil can't tell if it's the order or the slap that pushes him over the edge, the pain sending his mind reeling, making him cry out as he comes, spilling hot and explosive over his hand, his clothes, the floor in front of him. He _aches_, his mind reeling with the aftereffects, and he slumps forward, head resting against one slender thigh. "Th...thank you, Master," he whispers, eyes sliding shut as his hand slows, milking out every drop of his release.

Leo's face twists in disgust, and his boot connects firmly with Gilbert's chest, pushing him back and off of him with a hard shove. "Gross. You really don't need to touch me after all of that." He snorts, amused. "You really are just like your brother. Worse, actually."

Gil climbs slowly back up to his knees, giving a shaky nod. It's true, after all. Maybe it runs in their family, whoever their family really is. They can't be worth much, if they're from the sort of people who toss their children out on the streets to starve. "Sorry, Master. I'll just...clean up," he mutters, finding a scrap of cloth he'd cut off the dress to be discarded. There's no helping the mess on his own clothing, but he does his own washing anyway.

"Don't tell him, or he'll end up jealous," Leo mildly retorts, picking up his skirts as he rises and steps away. "Then again, you're pretty tell-tale now, with your face that red. Is this going to be a thing every time I ask you to make a dress for me?"

Gil scowls, a bit of his old grumpiness returning as he shoves himself back into his trousers. "You started it," he growls, gathering up his sewing basket. "And how many more dresses are you going to make me sew for you, anyway?"

"_I_ started it? You're the one that got turned on at the slightest thing, all I did was talk at you," Leo sniffs as he examines his nails. "Anyway, you'll make as many dresses as I want you to." _Assuming Elliot likes this one._ "Now, help me out of this and you can go."

Deft fingers make their way down the intricate fastenings of the back, something Gil's actually rather proud of. After a moment, he asks quietly, "Master, can I ask you something?"

Leo heaves a long-suffering sigh, even as he tugs his hair out of the way of any fastenings. "What is it?"

"Master Glen. The...last one, before you." Gil swallows hard, pulling out a straight pin, removing one of the fasteners, and threading it back through nimbly. "How much is he...there?"

The question brings Leo some pause, and he turns his head to look at Gilbert, contemplative. "… It's rare that there's only one voice, you know, and I don't like listening to them if I can help it. Why?"

Not for the first time, Gilbert wonders exactly how much Leo knows, from the Glen Baskervilles of the past, from Vincent, from whatever Jack's said, about his _own_ past and Sablier. He gives a brief, sad little apology of a smile, bending to his task. "I wanted to tell him I'm sorry for letting Jack out again. He...if I hadn't trusted Jack, he'd probably still be alive. Well, not _now_, but..."

"The other day, when you woke up and I was there," Leo quietly puts in before anything else can be said, "that was mostly him. Sometimes, they don't shut up until I do certain things-like watch out for stupid servants that keep thinking with their pricks," is the dark addition. "At any rate, I don't think he blames you."

That drives a little laugh out of Gilbert, and he blinks quickly, hand tightening on the fabric before he reminds himself to smooth it out. "Thank you, Master," he says softly, not quite sure which Glen he's talking to. It's more of an absolution than he'd expected, from a dead man. "Here, step out, I can do the rest on the mannequin."

Leo does as he's bid, snatching up his cloak the second he's out of the dress in order to huddle down into it. "Any idea as to when you'll have it finished by? I'd like to be able to make plans, obviously."

"Two days," Gil estimates, looking down at how much he still has to do. "Or longer if you've got errands for me. Any faster than that and I'd be rushing it, and if I'm going to be a seamstress I'm going to at least do credit to my old teacher," he finishes in a grumble.

"Your brother can run errands for once," Leo sighs as he fumbles with the buttons of his shirt. Dressing underneath a cloak is really less than enjoyable-and honestly, rather ridiculous, considering a moment ago he didn't exactly have this much shame. "Don't rush it. It… I do want it to look nice, of course."

Gil can't help but find it a bit cute, the way Leo goes from the cruel calculating master of before to this child, barely more than a blushing student getting ready for a secret stroll with a hidden lover. "I'm sure Elliot will find you most beautiful," he says, a hint of a blush in his own cheeks for the praise.

And then, because something tells him that he'll rarely see Leo like this again, and because maybe they've shared something, he asks, "It's odd, isn't it? To suddenly be a noble?"

Leo isn't sure what's more awkward, the way his face reddens or the fact that Gilbert is trying to be some level of friendly with him. "… No odder than having half a dozen voices in my head at any given time." He drags his cloak tightly about himself once more. "I'm not… really made out for this sort of thing," he admits tiredly.

Gil gives him a weak little smile, carefully bundling up the dress so it won't wrinkle, then leaning back against the doorframe. "I remember that," he admits. "Everyone always thought Vincent was the strange one because of his eyes, but..." He tilts his head back, sighing. "If everything hadn't gone wrong, I'd be one of those voices in your head."

"… So I've been told," Leo dryly replies, eyeing Gilbert with a faint hint of amusement. "You would have made a very strange Glen, anyway. Perhaps it's for the best. Also, I am certain I would never want you in my head."

Gil snorts at that. "I'm not really sure what would make me a _strange_ Glen. You're about as different from my old master as I can imagine, you know." Tall, quiet, strict, fair, kind to small animals, patient, slow to anger, cold when he finally did-

Yes, Leo's about as far from the Glen he knew as he can imagine.

Leo's nose wrinkles. "From what I can garner, that's a good thing. He sounds boring to me." He sweeps his cloak about himself as he heads to the door. "Well, take some time to yourself, anyway, and finish that thing," he says with a nod to the dress in Gilbert's arms. "You need a bit of recovery time still when it comes to Raven, anyway. Let's try to avoid trouble for a few days for once, shall we?"

"He wasn't boring, though," Gil says softly, out of some old sense of loyalty, but he doesn't bother insisting on anything. He tucks the dress under his arm, giving Leo a bow. "I'll let you know when it's done. Good night, Master."

"Good night, Gilbert," Leo quietly returns, parting ways with a nod of his head and looking terribly forward to his bed for once.

He really should learn to _not_ tease his servants one of these days. Where he gets that from, he's not sure he wants to know.

Collapsing back into the mattress, Leo scarcely remembers to kick his boots off, and rolls to the side, effectively encasing himself into his cloak. "You can come out, White Knight."

There's an anxiety, a hesitation before Elliot emerges. Instead of drawing his sword immediately, he appears behind Leo, brushing his lips over the Duke's ear. "I got you a present," he says, almost shyly, glad that Leo isn't looking directly at him.

"One that isn't yourself?" Leo drawls, rolling slowly over to glance up at Elliot. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it's nice. What are you so nervous about?"

"I'm just not sure you'll..."

Elliot huffs out a breath, trying to put his thoughts together. He strokes his hands over Leo's arms, trying to warm him with body heat he's not entirely sure he has, and murmurs, "I got it before Jack showed up, it's at the foot of the bed. I'll just-call me back after you open it, would you?" he asks, then starts to fade into the ether.

"Elli-"

Leo stops himself with a sigh, briefly rubbing the bridge of his nose as he pushes himself up, unwinding from his self-made cocoon to crawl to the foot of the bed as directed.

It's a small chest-old, obviously, and from the familiar carvings, probably something that has been in the Nightray family for generations. Immediately, Leo feels awkward. He's no noble, no matter what he's 'inherited', and he's certainly no Nightray, in spite of being the servant of one for a pair of years.

He opens it anyway.

Strange. It's really strange, thumbing through the contents, almost afraid to touch anything, especially when the linens feel far too fine to be beneath his hands, the veil-yes, that's definitely a wedding veil, and it sort of makes his heart thump too hard, too fast-so delicate that he's afraid even a fingernail will tear it, and the rest… well, jewelry he understands a bit better, even if there's a carefully carved ring box that he's too afraid to open, and if he isn't mistaken, the carefully folded clothing is for a child, presumably Elliot's-

"… Get back out here," Leo mumbles, his face flushed hot as he sits back onto his knees. "White Knight."

Elliot fades into view, hanging back awkwardly, waiting to see Leo's reactions. He'd deliberated for days, going back and forth, sure it was a stupid, trite, sentimental idea, finding himself oddly driven to it nonetheless, finally deciding that if Leo hated it, he could just pretend it had never happened.

He'd gone over every bit of the chest, making sure every item was present and accounted for-it wouldn't do to find he'd fallen victim to looters after his death and not even known about it-before hauling it up here, and every item had made him blush. He tells himself for the hundredth time that it's not what each item means on its own, but what the chest means as a whole that he's giving Leo.

He only wishes he'd understood enough to do it back when it had _really_ mattered.

"It's your choice," he says, trying to remember to be brave. He takes a deep breath, then says as steadily as he can manage, "I think you know what it is. You can put it back in the vault if you want, I won't be offended, but I'd like you to have it."

The laugh that escapes Leo's lips is wet. "Now _that's_ a lie. You'd be incredibly offended. Elliot-"

There's a dozen things he _could_ say, all expounding upon the fact that he really isn't good enough for something like this. He's not just a common-born street rat, but he's of the worst sort-one his own village didn't want, one that his parents didn't want, one that was only _wanted_ as a commodity, bought and sold into the House of Fianna and even then, he _still_ managed to ruin everything for everyone.

The problem is that Elliot doesn't _care_, and so all that Leo manages to blurt out is, "This is supposed to be for your _wife._ I'm not-" He swallows hard. "I'm not even a woman, you know."

"I know." There's really nothing he can say to that, when it comes down to it. Leo isn't a woman, and it was always a risk that he'd be more offended than pleased. "Look, you can just forget it. I swear I won't be offended."

Slowly, he picks his way forward, worrying his bottom lip between straight white teeth. "But it doesn't have anything to do with you being a woman. Just so you know. It's because..." He frowns, rummaging for the words he'd practiced, and not finding them. "Before I died, I wanted to spend my life with you. Now, I just want to spend whatever I have left with you."

It's sappy, it's corny, he _knows_ it, so he turns away, folding his arms and scowling. "If you don't want it you can throw it in the lake for all I care, it's not like anyone else is going to need it."

"I never said I didn't want it!"

His face is so red that it hurts. Leo jerks backward, huddled beneath heavy red velvet, and he looks up at Elliot, trying, _trying_ not to let his eyes become so wet that he can't help but cry. "I want it-_you_ more than anything in the world. I…" he chokes on his own words for a moment, sniffling to regain his composure. "I thought once… if maybe I had been born a woman, maybe you would have married me, even if I wasn't a noble. Even though I'm really not the kind of person you should marry-but-still-"

Now he's rambling. Leo huffs, his gaze downcast again, fingers trembling a bit as one traces the edge of the chest. "At least a bond between a contractor and chain is a lot harder to destroy than a piece of paper saying we're official. That… that's close enough, right?"

"You're an idiot," Elliot says, but there's no malice and a hell of a lot of relief behind the words. He can't keep away, so he comes up behind Leo, sliding an arm around his waist, resting his chin on Leo's shoulder no matter how he has to bend to do it. "Of course I would have married you if you were a girl. I told you, didn't I?" he asks, nuzzling against Leo's cheek.

"You were everything I was always looking for."

He nudges the chest with his other hand, dismissive even as he's reverent. "This...this is formality. I belong to you. I just thought you might want to do the same for me. You know, the way it would have been."

"… I want to wear the ring."

Leo tries not to cry. Really, he does, but it's sort of a losing battle at this point, no matter how he sniffs and blinks and tries not to just curl up into Elliot's chest and give _up._ "I'm sorry," he adds, rather on reflex at this point. "I'm really sorry. If all of this hadn't happened-y-you would've been a really good duke, you know, though I-I know I would have been an awful wife-" He's really pathetic, when it comes down to it.

Elliot can't help but grin at that, reaching around Leo and picking up the old engraved ring box. "If none of this had ever happened," he reminds Leo, with a soft, warm kiss on his jawline, "I would have been an itinerant fourth son lucky to find work as a clerk somewhere."

He sits on the bed, pulling Leo into his lap as he opens the ring box, presenting it to him. "And I'd be getting really good at dodging the things my wife threw at me."

"You should have been a duke," Leo stubbornly mumbles, curling himself back up against Elliot as he feels suddenly, intensely overwhelmed all over again. That's not supposed to be his ring, it's supposed to be Elliot's wife's-because he should have been alive, not like this, not ever like this.

He draws a shuddering breath. "Well, put it on me already." _Before I really start bawling like I'm Gilbert and drunk._

Damn it, Elliot feels tears welling up in his own eyes, no matter how he blinks them back. He'd thought he was _ready_ for this, but maybe it's the kind of thing you're not supposed to be ready for.

Carefully, because Leo's going to remember this and he wants it to be _right_, Elliot slides out from under Leo, kneeling at his feet as he draws out the ring. "This has been a Nightray family heirloom for three hundred years," he says quietly, and kisses Leo's hand softly before sliding it on. "And if I were a Duke, I would want nothing more than to make you my Duchess."

That's about the end of it.

The metal is surprisingly warm as it slides on, not as cool and cold as Leo expects from everything else in this damned mansion-except Elliot. It's fitting, of course, that something from Elliot wouldn't chill him to the bone, and his breath hiccups, simply unable to look away at the sight of that ring on his finger, at Elliot kneeling in front of him and saying things like _that._

Leo sucks in a breath before flinging himself forward, his arms tightly cinched about Elliot's neck as he buries his face into the other man's shoulder, giving in and just crying.

It means more than he'd thought it would, to have Leo wearing the ring. The wave of relief that crashes over Elliot at the idea that Leo hadn't laughed, hadn't called him a fucking idiot, hadn't just laughed at him is _nothing_ compared to the swell of happiness at seeing Leo put the ring on.

And then his arms are full of the other man, and he's kissing Leo's hair, holding him as tightly as his arms can manage, actually laughing through those embarrassing tears, and there's no tighter circle than the one made by his arms, not even the metallic one binding one elegant, slender finger.

"You're not allowed… to go anywhere, ever again," Leo eventually chokes out, worming his way against Elliot, his fingers cinched into the tail of his hair as he buries his face deeper into his neck. "I-if you keep coming back with things like this, you're going to _kill me_, I can't-"

Elliot has to laugh at that, hauling the both of them back onto the foot of the bed. "Where am I going to go?" he asks, incredulously. "And if I could, I sure as hell wouldn't want to go without my...without you." It's probably too early to start thinking about Leo as his wife, but damn it, he _is_ wearing the ring.

To cover for the slip, he turns to the chest, setting the box carefully back inside. "You know what the rest of this is? It's all yours, too."

Leo scrubs a hand over his eyes, managing a nod no matter how he still shakes. "Just so you know, though," he waveringly replies, "I'm not having kids any time soon. Jabberwock's as good as you're going to get for now."

Elliot snorts, setting aside the baby clothes. "He's a little big for these, I think. Then-ah, my mother told me and Vanessa that a real noblewoman's veil has to be fine enough to be drawn through her wedding ring, tip to tip." He pulls out the delicate lace, laying it on the bed. "Obviously you don't have to wear it or anything, but I'm pretty sure it's one of the good ones."

"… Thought that was just something women said in books," Leo admits, reaching out a hand to gingerly run his fingers over the lace. "I'm not sure I'd do it any justice, anyway…" He can't help but laugh. "I guess I should apologize for not being a virgin the first time we went to bed together, too, let alone that it was far before any wedding night. So much for being a real noblewoman."

Elliot brushes his fingers under Leo's chin, bringing him up for a soft, sweet kiss. "I'm pretty sure a real nobleman would have the courtesy to show up to the wedding alive," he points out. "I'd say you're still ahead."

There's more in the box, jewels his mother had squirreled away when Ernest and Claude started cooking the books, a pocketwatch from some great-grandfather, a few golden pendants for the children they're never going to have, and one more item, tucked into the very bottom. He lifts it out slowly, the only new item in the chest, one that hasn't been handed down from anywhere but handspun for Elliot's wife at his birth. "I, uh, don't know who handled my burial," he confesses, "so I don't know how much this means, but...you know what this is?"

Leo manages a nod, and though he lifts his hand to touch it, he can't quite bring himself to actually lay hand to a funeral shroud. It's too stark a reminder that Elliot _is_ actually dead, and what he has now is remnants, at the very best. "… I don't know who did, either," he murmurs, fingers curling as he withdraws his hand. "I… was being held in Pandora at the time of your burial. I've never… I thought I'd ask Vincent, once, if he would take me to your grave, but I could never do it."

Elliot nods once, firmly. "I bet it was Gil. He's...I mean, he's technically the heir to all of this, after all. He's the oldest and he's got Raven." His mouth twists into a frown. "Honestly, as his master, you should get on his case about getting married and continuing my family name."

He sighs, closes his hand over Leo's, and lays them both on top of the shroud. "Death isn't anything to be afraid of," he says quietly, firmly. "Everyone dies. It's how you go that matters, and what you do first."

"… You're going to see me rot away into nothing," Leo quietly replies, his fingers trembling underneath Elliot's. "Assuming I somehow manage to stop Jack, and restore balance to everything." He laughs, unable to help himself at the next thought. "But what you _aren't_ going to see is Gilbert ever marry a woman. Vincent, maybe."

Elliot lifts those slender fingers, kissing each one of them. "I'll have bandages ready," he promises. "And if everything goes like you say, you'll live on in the next Glen, and I'll be one of the chains handed down forever. Forever," he repeats, looking into those beautiful eyes he's so rarely had a chance to see. "More than most mortals can say."

Leo draws in a slow, shaky breath, his fingers curling beneath the touch of Elliot's lips. It's not something he wants to think about, not now, not ever, but it's phrased well enough, _said_ to him well enough that it doesn't hurt. "Good," he finally says. "That's good. They should be honored… having you as a chain."

Elliot smiles, hand tightening on Leo's. "We thought it was over before, and now you're here wearing my ring. Don't worry, Leo. There's nothing that can take me from you again." His mouth twists then, in slight confusion. "And why the hell can't Gilbert get married?"

"… Here's a little secret about your brothers, Elliot," Leo can't help but sigh out in amusement, even as his fingers lace with Elliot's to gently squeeze. "Every single one of them like men."

Elliot glares, giving Leo's shoulder a nudge. "Now you're just making things up. Do you have any idea how many women I've seen Vincent sneaking out with? Besides, what does it matter? He doesn't have to _love_ her. He's a nobleman."

"How _romantic_," Leo dryly retorts, and with that, flops himself backwards, dragging Elliot with him. "Just because a person likes women doesn't mean he can't like men, too. But what _matters_," he sighs, stretching out a leg and idly dragging it between Elliot's legs, "is if that wife is going to end up _pregnant._ What's the point of a loveless marriage if it doesn't produce heirs, correct?"

A slow grin creases Elliot's lips, and he rolls over, pinning Leo beneath him. "You're saying," he says slowly, leaning down to brush his lips along Leo's neck, "that my big brother is such a queer he wouldn't be able to continue the family name? What a disrespectful wife you are of my family."

"I'm not just saying it, I _know it_," he snickers, his hands lifting and winding their way through Elliot's hair, fingers tugging as he deliberately arches his throat against the drag of Elliot's lips. "Unless, maybe, they were tall and leggy and blonde… and flat as a board."

Elliot snorts harder than he means to, laughing against Leo's shoulder. "God, he always was so obsessed," he agrees, nipping affectionately at Leo's collarbone. "Guess we'll just have to hope one of my other brothers has a bastard floating around somewhere. At least _they _weren't..." Something makes him look up at Leo, suspicious. "Were they?"

_Nope nope nope, not thinking about this. _"I didn't pay attention," he lies, because he always pays attention, always, especially to things like that and when eyes linger a bit too long on _him._ Leo shoves the thought from his mind, his hands dragging down Elliot's back and fisting into his coat as his legs splay, thighs neatly pressed to either side of Elliot's hips. "But they had enough 'fun' with the maids, I can assure you, so that's close enough."

If Elliot weren't currently being distracted by the way he's nestled between his lover's parted thighs, he'd probably have realized that Leo always, _always_ pays attention, to everything. "No one coming forward to claim the Nightray fortune yet, though," he grunts, rocking down against Leo, one hand going to lazily undo his trousers even as he plays with Leo's hair with the other hand. "If you'd been a girl, would you still have slept with me? As my servant?"

_Disaster avoided. _A content sigh escapes Leo's lips as he tilts his head back, nuzzling back into Elliot's touch as his fingers stroke down the other man's back, trailing around his sides to pluck at the fastenings of his coat and shirt underneath. "I can't help but think you would have been more reluctant," Leo teases, "but I can assure you, I would have been more than willing. What would you have done if you had been the _virile_ one in your family and gotten me pregnant, hmm?"

Damn, but Leo's probably right, and it _would_ have been different if he'd been a girl. Then again...Elliot can't really see turning Leo down, no matter _what_ he looks like. After a second's thought, he grins, pulling back just for long enough to discard his coat, yanking at some of the buttons. "I'd probably have gotten you pregnant on purpose. If it was hard to convince my family to take you as my servant, I'd have needed all the help I could get to get them to let me marry you. A child would have helped."

"Would you even know what to do with a girl?" Leo laughs, his hands quickly moving southward to Elliot's hips, biting his own lip as he tugs, dragging the man forward with an arch of his own hips, legs spreading wider with each slow grind. "Mm, you know… my mother, she was kind of a small woman, but _quite_ well-endowed," he purrs, grabbing at Elliot's hands next to bring them to the buttons of his own shirt, and rather pointedly over the _flat_ planes of his chest, at that. "I never did imagine you liking that sort of thing…"

The idea isn't anything he thinks about too often, but Elliot's face flushes at the insinuation that he wouldn't know what to do. "I got plenty of advice on that count," he grumbles, flicking open the buttons, pressing his mouth to that smooth chest, closing his teeth gently around one nipple and tugging. Oddly enough, he _can_ sort of imagine it, Leo curvy and soft, pliant and squishy under his hands, and his hips grind down just a bit harder into Leo's, feeling the hard line of his cock. "If you _were_ so well-endowed, what would you want me to do with your body?"

A shudder rakes down Leo's spine, bringing him to lurch up with a sigh, his lips parting with the groan that follows. "You could slide up, right here," he murmurs, lifting a hand to drag a finger down the middle of his own chest. "I bet you'd like it, the way something that soft and warm would feel around your cock," Leo purrs, a smirk slowly curling over his lips, "and maybe you'd like it even more if I could get my mouth on you."

That image is oddly arousing, and Elliot follows Leo's finger with the tip of his tongue, tracing up the crease in the middle of his chest, up his neck, the underside of his jaw. "I like your mouth plenty now," he points out, capturing it for a kiss.

His hands slide down, spreading Leo's thighs wide, sliding up to cup between his legs, squeezing and stroking. "I wouldn't need oil," he murmurs. "You'd be all...wet and ready for me all the time, all I'd have to do is shove inside you."

The thought of that makes him flush near-painfully hot, his hips jerking up to press his cock up into Elliot's palm. All Leo's mind can focus on is how his trousers need to come _off_, how he needs to start grabbing for the bottle of oil in question now, but instead he finds himself rutting shamelessly into Elliot's touch, a mindless groan pulled from his lips.

"Ready enough for you anyway," Leo pants, and he twists, reaching back over his head, clawing underneath a pillow for the oil. "Sometimes I wish…" he trails off at first, the blush lighting a path down his neck as well. "I wish I was _that_ kind of servant, so you'd have me here in bed, whenever you felt like it-so I'd never not be full of you…"

That makes Elliot's breath catch in his throat, a low rumble of approval in his chest as he grips Leo's hips, flipping him over onto his stomach with a single swift motion, all teasing gone with those last words. "Maybe it's you who'd wear the leash then, hmm?" he says, low and breathy against Leo's ear, yanking the Duke's trousers off, rubbing his own cock against that tight little ass. "I could keep you chained to my bed-but I wouldn't need to, would I? You'd be glad to be here, just waiting for me to take you."

The next sound that dares Leo's throat is better muffled into the sheets as he bites down, face buried into an arm as his hips arch back on their own accord, thighs quivering as he sets his knees that much further apart. "Yes-" Every word seems to go straight to his cock, leaving him twitching, breath escaping in a hot, heavy exhale. "If you never wanted me to leave your bed, I wouldn't," he groans, writhing backwards, sighing out at the length of Elliot's cock grinding against him. "I'd be good for you, I promise-"

Elliot's hand closes around Leo's, grabbing the little bottle of oil away from him-full, he notices, torn between embarrassment and amusement, knowing that Vincent has been out buying exactly this for them. He slides a slick hand down, teasing a couple fingertips over that tiny hole before wiggling them inside. "I'd still do this," he breathes, twisting and scissoring them, other hand stroking gently over Leo's back. "Even if you were always ready for me, I still love the noises you make when I do this."

"_God_-" Leo knows it's exactly along the lines of the sounds Elliot _likes_, breathy and high and nearing a squeak at the end when those long fingers stroke inside of him just right, enough to make him wriggle backwards, flushed face burying its way down into the sheets. It's slick and hot and perfect, and it's hard not to imagine Elliot making him squirm just as easily if he _were_ a woman, snaking a hand up his skirts, hiking them up in the hallway around some dark, private corner-

He nearly loses himself with just that. Leo trembles, whines, twisting his head around to shoot Elliot a heavily lidded glance. "Elliot-_please_-"

Those eyes staring at him aren't even _fair_, and the naked hunger in them makes Elliot shudder. He drags his hand free, knowing he hasn't done enough, too far gone to really care, and slicks up his cock before leaning forward, covering Leo's slight frame with his much larger one. He twines his fingers with Leo's, rubbing a thumb against the warm circle of metal, hooking his chin over Leo's shoulder. "Slow," he says softly. "Even if you aren't virgin for me, it's still the closest thing we'll ever have to a wedding night."

A shaky, breathless laugh escapes Leo at that, and his head tilts back, cheek rubbing against Elliot's. "Every night for the rest of whenever can be our wedding night," he breathes, shivering as he presses his hips back in a slow, but no less eager grind nonetheless. "You just feel so _good_, Elliot…"

"The rest of _forever_," Elliot corrects, tightening his hand on Leo's. God, he wants to draw this out, wants to make it the perfect sweet thing it should be, but he's never had much self-control when it comes to Leo writhing under him.

With the ease of long practice and the shaky breath of first-time nerves, Elliot guides himself inside, pressing in deep, hissing at the tight slick slide as he buries his head in Leo's shoulder, chest heaving, shuddering. "G-_god_..."

Leo is left shuddering that much harder, his body arching as much as his knees set themselves further apart to accommodate the stretch. That first, aching slide always takes his breath away, leaves him whimpering and panting with each inch that fills him, and his fingers squeeze tight around Elliot's, holding on as if he's a last lifeline.

_Might as well be._

He lurches back, unable to stop himself from writhing, no matter if Elliot's told him _slow._ "Good-_good_, just-please-"

There's no request from his master Elliot wants to fill more. His lips seal against the pale skin of Leo's neck, marking him in body as much as soul, feeling the flutter of his pulse as he slides deep, so deep inside. There are words for this kind of moment, probably, but Elliot's never been the best with words, and he snakes his free arm around Leo's waist, drawing him closer than ever, pushing in until he's as deep as he can possibly go, holding Leo steady and rocking gently into him. "Mine," he breathes.

God, nothing better could have been said.

With Elliot so deep inside of him, it's like he can barely even breathe. Leo's mouth falls open, a heady, shaky little groan pulled from his throat, words rather intent on failing him when there's nothing more that he can do but enjoy. Every slide of Elliot's cock, every brush of Elliot's skin against his own, his mouth on his neck-his skin twitches beneath just the slightest of touches, every muscle drawn tight as he wriggles back, breath escaping hotter, faster as every little shift and nudge of Elliot inside of him feels better still, a lingering, too-pleasant ache. "Yours," Leo uselessly agrees, his head bowing forward again as his lips part with another, hitching sigh.

The hand wrapped around Leo's waist trails farther down, wrapping around his cock, giving a slow, firm stroke from base to tip with every long thrust of Elliot's hips. He rocks, holding Leo as tightly as he can, hand curling around Leo's, that thrill of possession at feeling the ring and knowing Leo is _mine, mine, mine_.

Every thrust only takes him out an inch, rocking right back inside, not wanting to leave his lover empty even for a moment, and his breath is ragged, urgent against Leo's neck as his speed picks up. There are no words, nothing for _this_ that hasn't already been said, and better, by the ring around Leo's finger.

Nothing could be better than this. Every touch, every slide of Elliot's body against his own leaves Leo quivering, panting into the sheets and clutching tighter at Elliot's hand. He's even more lost when Elliot's fingers wrap around his cock, when he's left to worry his lower lip, whimpering as he ruts against the other man's palm and exhales a hitching sigh with every perfect little drag of his fingers.

That's the end of it, really, no matter how Leo doesn't want it to be. He's too full, too overwhelmed, touched just right and left _melting_ into the mattress, his face buried into the sheets as he comes with little more than a whimper, none of his usual shrieking or begging or praises even able to wring their way from his throat.

Elliot's breath comes in a low shudder as Leo tenses and quivers in his arms, around him, beneath him, and it's all he can do to draw this out. Leo's skin tastes like home, and he tries to keep his hands gentle as his hips move, still slow, still rocking gently inside him. "Do you mind if I...keep going?" he asks softly, tugging on an earlobe with his teeth.

_I want to stay inside you forever._

He wraps his arm back around Leo's waist, holding him still, trying to be gentle, trying to keep his wits when everything is slick tight hot _perfect, _and above all, when it's _Leo._

"No-god, don't you dare stop," Leo groans, twisting his head to the side to press his cheek into one of his own arms, no matter how he keeps trembling, keeps shivering like some useless, pitiful thing. Everything is hypersensitive now, and he can feel every inch of Elliot inside of him that much more acutely, leaving him to tense even tighter around him. "Elliot, you're just…"

Slowly, trying not to jostle him too much, Elliot leans them forward, splays Leo out onto his stomach, covering him with his body. It's easier like this to just rock slowly together, every shivering twitch of his hips driving him deeper, until it's difficult to tell where he ends and where Leo begins, running his hands over every inch of the other man's body. "Good," he groans out, burying his face in the back of Leo's shoulder. "God, I-need you _more_, I-"

He's not making sense anymore, and he doesn't even care.

God but it's nice like this, splayed out beneath Elliot like some kind of an offering. Leo just tries to nestle himself back against him, his breath a low, measured huff as he stretches, a long, luxurious thing that leaves his toes curling, his teeth biting into his lower lip once more to keep back a broken little squeak at how _deeply_ Elliot pushes inside of him. "Just… just tell me what you want," he breathes, voice little more than a rasp. "I'll do it, whatever it is-"

If it were possible to be even _closer_, Elliot would want that too. He turns Leo's head for a deep kiss, tasting every bit of his mouth before murmuring against his lips, "Tell me."

He traces his thumb over the ring again, sighing as he thrusts in, sweat beading on his forehead from the strain of going so _slowly_. "You'd-tell me what you'd do for me, as my-"

There's a twinge that goes up Leo's spine, leaving him to rock his hips involuntarily down into the bed, groaning lowly at how it feels to just rub his already spent cock against the fine linens. "Anything," he shudders, and his body squeezes tight around Elliot, coaxing him, _begging_ for him "Anything you could think of-I… I'd want to always be ready for you, slick and dripping so you could just-pick me up whenever, sit me down in your lap and let me do all the work so you could watch, whenever you wanted-"

At that, Elliot's cock jerks, hardening further than he'd thought possible, hands clenching on Leo's as he groans. "Love your stories," he grunts, rolling his hips, body moving slick and hard against Leo's, his chest pressing against Leo's back. "God, you always know what to say."

He can imagine it more easily than he wants to admit, and he twitches inside Leo, jerking forward as he thinks about how good it would be, how perfect, how _hot_ to just summon Leo whenever he felt like it, letting him make those beautiful faces, take his cock so perfectly...

"Do it next time," Leo pants out, his own pulse jumping at the thought, and the blood seeming to go straight to his groin, making him twist, squirming back into Elliot's next thrust. "Don't want you to ask, just grab me, put me where you want me-I'll be good and take all of you, I swear it. I w-won't even come until you tell me to, I'll just be your plaything-"

One hand fists into Leo's hair, yanking his head back so Elliot can meet his eyes, driving in as deep as possible with one hard slap of his hips. "More than that," he breathes, and his motions turn savage, desperate, _hungry_. He bites at Leo's neck, fists tightly in his hair, driving in hard, fast, almost brutal no matter how careful he tries to be. "I can-god, I can have you whenever I _want_, you belong to me." He nips at his neck again, growling, "My wife."

The sound that pulls from Leo's throat is something akin to a sob, his hands clenching into the bed as his eyes flutter. "Yours," he agrees on a hot breath, and the next thing he says is little more than a whine, broken and needy. "Just yours, your wife-god, Elliot, just _use me_, make sure everyone knows-"

That's all it takes.

Elliot's breath comes out in a strangled groan, his teeth sinking in deep, uncareful for once as he sucks hard on the part of skin that _isn't_ covered by that familiar collar, the thought of everyone seeing, _realizing_, looking at Leo and seeing how thoroughly he's been _used_-

It's less of an explosion than a gentle slide into bliss, all the more powerful because of it, washing over his body, engulfing him until he's a shuddering, trembling mess, draped over Leo, holding him so tightly he's sure it's got to be uncomfortable, gasping for breath as he sags down, sated, _useless_. "Leo..."

Elliot filling him like this, hot and slick and perfect, leaves Leo shuddering all over again, as shaky as Elliot as he sinks down into the bed, grateful for the weight of the man above him to ground him, to remind him that he's _here_ and safe and wrapped up in everything that is _Elliot._

"… Not fair," he eventually manages, still out of breath as he forces the words from his throat. Even the throb of the marks on his neck are _good_, enough to make his pulse jump and twitch. "Just… like this, you're so…"

"Perfect," Elliot murmurs, nudging Leo onto his side with a minimum of movement so he can stay curled around him, even as they relax into sleep. "Let's do this again...forever."


	9. Chapter 9

The last place Vincent wants to be is here.

Honestly, he's tried everything. He's had sex with the girl-well, as much as she'll let him-and even tried to offer her a _proper_ room to stay in, not this dungeon. That had lasted for all of a night, and when her cooperation still seemed to be lacking, back within cold stone walls Ada went, leaving Vincent with the urge to bang his head into the nearest wall.

Now, however, he has little choice but to face her down again. The phrasing of such a thing sounds like a fight, and in reality, it _is._ He doesn't want to be here, doesn't want to deal with this, doesn't want to acknowledge the command from his master to wheedle the information they need out of her once and for all, and yet here he is, sighing as he peels off his coat and offers it to the girl in an initial attempt to be _nice._

"It's freezing down here, Miss Ada."

Ada ducks her head in gratitude, giving Vincent a wan little smile as she takes the coat. It barely stretches around her shoulders, but it's a breath of much-needed warmth in any case, and it smells like him. "Thank you, Mr. Vincent. I'd like to offer you a place to sit down, but..."

There had been no preparing for this in training with the governess, let alone at school. Of all the ways Ada has learned to receive a nobleman, "in a dungeon" is hardly one of them.

Vincent's smile is wry. "I understand, trust me. I'd really rather not have you kept here, but… that isn't up to me."

With that, he kneels, reaching out to gently take one of her hands within his own. "Surely you know by now that continuing this is pointless," he murmurs, running a thumb over the back of her hand.

A flutter of eyelashes accompanies the hitch of Ada's breath, even as her hand tightens on his. "Thank you for thinking of my welfare," she says with a little smile, "and I'm very sorry Mr. Baskerville is angry with you. I hope you aren't in too much trouble?"

Not even a single budge. Vincent briefly bites his tongue out of frustration. "Nothing I can't handle for such a beautiful woman as yourself," he replies without missing a beat. "I am far more concerned about your well-being, after all. If you had _any_ information to offer him, I am certain he would become much more pleasant to deal with."

At that, at least, Ada can smile. "You don't need to worry about me, I promise. I might not have chains like all of you, but it's not so bad, in here." It's no worse than the storage houses and attics and cellars where she's been shunted the last two years, everyone terrified of the information she holds. "I'm glad he lets you come and see me sometimes. It's so nice to have company."

Women. God, he hates women. "… Miss Ada," Vincent sighs, feeling overwhelming as if he's slamming his face into a brick wall, "you realize he will not entertain your silence for much longer."

Ada gives him an apologetic little shrug. "There isn't much I can do about what he wants. Perhaps you can keep me company until then? Tell me about some of the things I've missed since I went into hiding?"

Ugh. Really, this is the last thing he feels the need to deal with today, and yet Leo has actively given him _no choice _regarding it. It's punishment, of course, though for what, Vincent isn't quite sure-not that Leo needs a reason, nor does he need a single, particular act to be punished _for._

Then again, the fact that it is viewed as punishment to begin with is infuriating. This woman-

He shouldn't _care._

"As much as I would love to do that, Miss Ada," he murmurs, slowly withdrawing as he makes to stand, "my master has instructed me not to talk with you at length unless you intend on divulging at least some sort of information. Otherwise, I've been told to extract it from you by any means necessary."

Slowly, Ada withdraws her hand from Vincent's, firming her chin as much as she can, giving a brave little nod of acquiescence. "I understand, Mr. Vincent," she says, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. It was always going to come to this, as Uncle Oscar had warned her. "Do your worst."

There's that frustration again.

"Why won't you just _tell us?_" He doesn't mean to blurt it out like that, at least in such a way that makes him sound so _annoyed._ It's hard not to wipe a hand over his face in obvious irritation. "Miss Ada, with all due respect, but what do you have to _gain_ from withholding this? I don't-" _understand or want to do this or deal with this or-_

Prepared for torture and receiving none, Ada opens one eye cautiously. It's not his fault, of course, and Ada can't help taking a little step forward, though she wishes she'd had more chances to bathe properly and fix her clothing before their meeting. This isn't how she wants him to remember her, when it's all finished. "I'm just...doing what I think is right," she offers in a small voice. "Aren't you doing the same thing?"

"I can't accomplish anything until you tell us where the key is!"

Vincent doesn't mean to say that, either, and he leans his weight back onto his heels, sucking in a slow, calming breath. It isn't the first time that this girl has thrown him off-kilter and ruined any attempts at an upper hand, but god, it needs to be the last. "Leo," he mutters. "I meant Leo. He can't accomplish anything… until you hand over the key. Miss Ada, you _do_ understand that there is no possible way of sealing Jack-of saving your brother until he has all five feathered chains within his possession?"

"How do you know?"

It's an earnest question, without artifice or malice, Ada's eyes wide as she leans forward. "That's what Leo told you, right? But so _many_ things have happened that I don't understand, and I don't think anyone really understands them."

She gives a tremulous little smile. "If he really is trying to save everyone, he could be nicer about it."

"I-" Vincent exhales, a hand lifting to briefly press to the bridge of his nose. "I doubt even my master can explain _why_ he needs the chain in your family's possession, Miss Ada, but I am certain that the hundreds of years of experience that the previous Glen Baskervilles are offering him is rather accurate. And I think you know as well as anyone that he is rather awful at being _nice_ as of late."

"He used to be such a nice boy," she remembers wistfully. "I wish I could hear him and Elliot play the piano again. You weren't at school with us, but you lived in this house with them, you must have heard them play."

"Can you… stop changing the subject?" Vincent has to turn away, lest he grab her and _shake her. _"Miss Ada… the last thing I want to do is _hurt you._"

It should bother him more, really, that it's not entirely a lie.

"I know," she says quietly, and carefully, almost shyly (odd, given all the things she's let him do to her, all the things she's done _with _him) lays a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I don't want to make you do things you don't want to do."

"Then just _tell me._" Every other trick in the book has failed at this point, and Vincent knows, perhaps better than anyone, that any sort of physical violence isn't going to help. Begging has a better chance, really. "If there's something I can do in exchange, I'll do it," he settles for instead, turning back to grasp for her hand, clasping it between his own. "Please."

At times like this, Ada almost wishes there were something that she wanted so desperately she'd give up anything, even her family's secrets, even the one thing she's ever been entrusted with, just to achieve. Maybe then she wouldn't feel so guilty for not being able to help. She sighs instead, squeezing Vincent's hand. "I wish I could. I'd like nothing better in the world than to help you."

And here Vincent was so certain that would work this time.

"Don't you get it by now?" His grip changes, and it's with a firm, though not _rough_ shove that he pushes her, her back hitting the cold stone of the dungeon wall. "If you don't give us _something_, Ada, he's not going to kill you. It'll be your uncle first, and then he won't care about your brother any longer. He'll do what needs to be done without saving him, and there won't be anything _left_ for you."

A startled breath escapes Ada, and she squirms under Vincent's firm grip, flinching away from his words more than his touch. "Y-you say he's the one I should trust," she gasps, looking up with tears filling emerald-green eyes, "but he's going to kill my family if I don't give him what he wants?" A tremor of fear goes through her, and the tears spill down her cheeks. "I...I don't even know if Uncle Oscar is still alive..."

Damn it, he hates it when women cry. Vincent sucks in a slow breath, his grip loosening, but only slightly. "You don't have to trust him-trust _me_," he lowly insists. "I won't _let him_ do those things if you just tell us something, anything at all. I'll even find out how your uncle is."

Ada reaches out, fisting her hands in the front of Vincent's coat, drawing him close just to feel the warmth of him, the solidity of even his slight frame, resting her forehead against his chest. "You told me once," she says quietly, hiding her face until she can get the tears under control, "that you wouldn't stop until my uncle and my father accepted our love."

This is going to be one of _those_ conversations.

"… You make it sound as if I _have_ stopped." She isn't Gilbert, or anything like him. In fact, Ada is about as different as anything as his arms slide around her. She's soft and warm and curvy, with her hair tickling his fingers as it drapes down her back, and it's hard not to wind his fingers through it a bit. Vincent likes women-or at least, the aesthetic of them-well enough, but 'like' isn't quite the word for how pleasant it is to have her pressed against him, huddling into his arms.

This is about to get very, very annoying.

"If you don't trust me," he murmurs, tilting his head down, his lips ghosting the top of her head, "I can't do anything to fix this."

_Be brave, Ada._

She remembers her uncle's last words to her all too well, and sniffs hard, trying to keep the tears at bay. It's what she wants, more than anything, but which is more brave, trusting the man she believes in, the man she loves, the man who everyone else says is evil but she _knows_ she's seen the heart of-

-or being strong enough to push him away?

Uncle Oscar had told her not to trust anyone. Oz had told her to give the key to the Baskervilles. "You say...that it's best to give the key to Mr. Baskerville?"

God forbid if he's actually _getting_ somewhere. "Yes," Vincent simply replies, exhaling a slow, measured breath as his arms tighten about her, just slightly. "If you do that… I know he'll be able to help your brother, and everyone else."

"How?"

The question is simple, even as Ada lays her cheek against his chest, listening to the comforting slow pulse of his heart. "What will he do, exactly?"

"… He hasn't told me all the details," Vincent admits, slowly frowning and glad that the girl can't see it as his fingers drag up through her hair, brushing against the back of her neck. He shouldn't _like_ the weight of her against him quite so much. "As soon as he can take possession of Gryphon, however, I know he will take Raven from Gilbert as well. With all five of those chains, Duke Baskerville should be able to properly silence the Will of the Abyss… and subsequently take Jack's power away."

"So...you don't know for sure what he's going to do."

Ada's fingers curl against the lapels of Vincent's coat, flushed and embarrassed at the state of her hair as he touches it. It's not like before, where she'd been able to spend three hours with her chambermaid before going on one of their walks, making sure everything was exactly perfect for him. She misses that, when her biggest worry was whether he'd find a hair out of place, or that she'd spill something on her gown before seeing him. "You'll let him kill Gilbert? Even though you don't know what's going to happen? I thought the two of you were very close."

Vincent snorts at that, giving a gentle tug upon her hair before he can stop himself. "He wouldn't kill Gilbert. He's… my master has already promised to grant one of Gilbert's wishes, as well as mine, and it wouldn't do either of us any good if Gilbert were dead for it."

Ada does relax a little at that, nudging her cheek against him, bumping the top of her head against his chin affectionately. "I'm glad. I didn't know he was so powerful he could grant wishes. I'd hate to think he was lying just so you and Gilbert would do what he wants, especially if it killed poor Gil to have his chain ripped away."

"He's a Baskerville… it's not going to kill him," Vincent reminds her, sighing as he drops his head forward, chin propped atop her head. God, if Gil could see him now. "The extent of Glen Baskerville's power runs very deep… I daresay there is little he cannot accomplish, when the full power of the Abyss is granted to him. That's why we need your cooperation."

"I'm afraid." It's a quiet, shivering confession, her hands clenching on his lapel as she leans in further, as if he really could protect her from all of this. "I'm afraid he's lying to you, and he's only going to do bad things with Gryphon. And if he's as powerful as you say...could you really stop him?"

"… Ada, there's little I could do to stop him, but that being said, there's nothing he has to gain by _lying_ to us," Vincent murmurs, fingers slowly stroking down her back. He rather wishes he hadn't given her his coat-not because of the chill that runs through his own bones, but because he'd find some entertainment in plucking at the lacings of her dress, and watching her blush because of it. "Leo has everything to lose, too."

"I think," Ada says softly, burying her face again, "that this would have been easier if he weren't threatening to torture and kill my family. And me. It's hard to believe he's trying to do the right thing when he's being so cruel." Vincent does smell good, always does, a little sweet and wild and dangerous, like nothing she's ever been allowed for her own health.

Vincent's expression twists wry, and it's with a little shove that he pushes her back into the wall again, his hands dragging up to cup her face. "I won't claim to condone his actions or his methods-" _Even though I have done far, far worse, and 'threatening' you is the least of all cruelties. _"But at the very least, you have to realize that he _did_ lose everything. And with your refusal to cooperate… what else was he to do?" One hand slides away, and he undoes the button of his glove with his teeth, pulling it off shortly after to put flesh to flesh, thumb stroking over the line of her jaw. "If you _help us_… I know he won't hurt you."

"And you?" Ada breathes, her chest straining against her bodice as she looks up at him, heart racing the way it does whenever he touches her without those gloves, with nothing but skin between them. "The other girls told me you're dangerous, and you said you were going to hurt me." If only they were in a tower, instead of this dank dungeon, then it would _truly_ be like one of her gothic romance novels, pilfered from the home of a similarly fascinated friend.

"… Do you believe them?" That part is amusing, at least, and proof that not all of his previous conquests are as stupid as they look. His thumb drags over the swell of her lower lip, and it's difficult not to cast his gaze downward, watching the damned way that she _breathes._ "Have I ever hurt you before?"

Ada's breath catches at the touch of his thumb, and she leans forward, body pressed against his as she looks up, mouth parting slowly. She draws in a breath, then admits, "You aren't...the man I thought you were, when we first met." Her hand comes up to cup his cheek, and she smiles. "I'm glad."

The problem with liking the _aesthetic_ of women is that Ada meets every requirement perfectly.

This is the point when he'd push any other woman into something, over something, kiss them sweet or fast or however they liked, but with Ada, he has to _wait_, and damn it all, that's _annoying._ Vincent draws in a slow breath, unable to stop himself from swiping that thumb over her lips, against the flick of her tongue as she speaks, and it's all the more distracting when she's pressed into him like this. "I'm not quite sure what that means," he admits with a low chuckle, "but if you like it, then I suppose I cannot complain."

Ada nods, flushing at the way his thumb presses against her mouth, even giving it a quick peck with her lips before smiling up at him. "When I first met you...I thought you were a very sweet, very handsome man," she confesses, ducking her head as she blushes. "I...am surprised at how good and kind and strong you really are."

Isn't _that_ a pleasant guilt trip? "And here I was thinking your opinion of me must have devolved," he murmurs, trailing his fingers away to toy with a strand of her hair instead. "I'm sorry to say that I really am not so good or kind or any of those things, Miss Ada."

"But you _are_." Ada's hand on his cheek cups, brushing her fingers across his cheekbones. "The way you care for Gilbert...the way you care for me even when I can't tell you what you want to know...I think it's very noble. I only wish you could explain _why_ you trust Leo so much, maybe then I could..."

"There's no reason that would make sense to you." Damn it all, if she could just be like every other woman that stupid took things at face value for once. Vincent's head tips forward to nuzzle against her palm, to place a kiss to the inside of her wrist as a hand winds its way about her lower back. "First and foremost, he is Glen… and being who-_what_ I am, his word is absolute. I have no reason to doubt him."

Ada pulls back, suddenly feeling very small, very alone. Even Vincent's arm around her waist feels too strong, not quite right. "You don't doubt him even if he tells you to hurt me?"

Damn it. "I didn't say that. In matters dealing with the _Abyss_, I have no reason to doubt him. With you, it's-" Vincent loosens his hold, feeling her withdraw. "Remember, the night he ordered you captured-I _did_ try to help you escape." He smiles wryly at that. "Little good that did, but even still-the last thing I want to see is you hurt."

"Then help me again!" Ada seizes onto that scrap of hope, eyes fluttering as she looks up at him, pleading. "You and I-we could get my uncle and leave this awful place, I'm sure he wouldn't mind if we got married if you were the one to rescue me-"

"_Ada_." Vincent's hands lift, grasping her by her shoulders, and he _does_ give her a little shake then, frowning. "What good is that going to do if the whole world has been dragged into the Abyss? We can't keep Jack sealed forever, surely you know that." _Never mind the marriage part, no thank you._

It was worth a try, anyway. Ada shivers under Vincent's hands, nodding meekly. "I-of course, you're right. M-maybe if you could tell me _how_ Leo is going to save the world, or better yet, what's going to happen to my brother after he deals with Jack?"

He's talking in circles. "Ada," Vincent _patiently_ attempts, "I've already told you that the intricacies of what my master intends to do are rather unknown to me. All I know is that your brother _will_ be fine, because Gilbert has specifically requested as much."

Ada blinks at that, startled. "That was his one wish?" The tears are back, though this time she tries to blink them away, dabbing at them with Vincent's borrowed handkerchief. "He was always so sweet. What did you wish for, Mr. Vincent?"

"To make sure Gilbert was safe and happy." It's not a lie, and she certainly doesn't need to know the full details of his wish.

Her smile is watery, but genuine. "The two of you are so selfless. I wish...I could be more like that, sometimes."

A wave of dizziness surges through her, and she sits down hard on the bed, blinking rapidly. It's been more and more frequent, over the long years without proper sunlight, without proper food sometimes, or the laughing companionship of her youth, and suddenly she feels very, very tired. "Do you ever want this all to be over, Mr. Vincent?"

_Yes. Every day. _

Vincent follows after her rather than say that, taking a seat to her side and gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. "It _will_ be over," he tells her gently, "if you just help us."

Forgoing propriety, Ada simply lets her head flop down to his shoulder with a sigh. If it weren't her most important thing, literally the only thing she's ever been entrusted with her entire life...

"What then?"

"… Then you'll be free to do as you like, and after Duke Baskerville succeeds, have a long, happy life," he says, finding it oddly… _cute_ how she simply leans against him, and carefully adjusts to wind an arm about her waist. "I'd understand if you preferred to stay within our care, however, so we could keep you properly safe."

"In the dungeon? Or somewhere else?" It's not exactly the interrogation she thought she was going to get, but right now, folded up in his too-small coat, curled against his side, she can't exactly mind. "What about you?"

"Of course not in the dungeon, assuming you actually assist us," Vincent sniffs. "And me… well."

_I won't be here, and you won't remember me. _

The fact that it bothers him at all is troublesome, and so to silence such thoughts, he tilts her chin upward with a gentle tap of one finger. "Perhaps what is left of my life would be better spent with you."

"You're so brave," Ada whispers, leaning up close enough that her nose brushes against his. "I know you've risked a lot to keep me safe, and I...I want to repay you, somehow...if you'll let me..."

For once, Vincent hopes it has nothing to do with sex. Well, he _does_, but somehow there are more important things. "For now," he murmurs, tilting his head so that his lips brush the corner of her mouth, "focus on the task at hand. Help us _fix_ all of this, Ada. You're the only one that can."

Ada shivers under his kiss. She always does, no matter how many times she's tasted his lips, and leans up for another before ducking her head, cheeks pink. "How do I know your master will keep his word? You said yourself you can't stop him if he wants to do something..."

"Mm," Vincent muses, tongue briefly flicking out to trace over his own lower lip as he straightens slightly. "Before, I would have been quite willing to agree about his fickle nature… but now, if he doesn't manage to stop Jack, then he'll lose everything all over again. Ah, or what's left of it, I suppose-the chain he's made Elliot into. He won't risk it."

That, for once, gives Ada a brief spark of hope. Maybe, if Leo has his friend back, he truly _will_ have their best interests at heart. Perhaps...a test is in order. Not of Vincent, of course. Leo, however...

"If I tell you," she says quietly, shifting a little closer to him, "will you bring my uncle here? Then after you see it's real, you'll let us go?"

_Finally._ "I'll go and find him this very day if that would assuage some of your worry," Vincent replies, his fingers loosely curling about her hip, giving her a gentle squeeze as she draws closer. "As long as you _tell me_, and everything goes as planned, that shouldn't be a problem."

Ada's breath catches, and she squeezes her eyes shut, prepared to make a big mistake. It isn't as if she can go on like this forever, after all. "It's...on the Vessalius estate. In the place...that Gil and my brother found the day of Oz's ceremony. Gil knows where." And now, the bones are cast.

Vincent tries not to look like a cat that's found the cream. "Good," he exhales, and he leans down, ghosting his lips over her brow. "Very good. Obviously, you know we'll have to go see for ourselves, and I'll have to leave to go and find your uncle… but that's good, Ada."

"You promised," she reminds him, hands fisting urgently in his shirt, clinging tightly. "You promised, you'll bring my uncle here? Then-if you need me to show you exactly where, I can go with you..."

"I promise I'll bring him here," Vincent repeats, and he lifts a hand to stroke soothingly over the back of one of hers. "Just give me a day. I can have you moved out of here in the meantime, more than likely, but you'll still need to wait and behave yourself while we confirm everything."

Ada nods, heart fluttering in her ribcage. She's playing with fire, she _knows_, but with as few weapons as a woman has, she needs to know how to use them all. "I just-" She swallows hard, leaning up close, pressing against him. "The only thing that worries me is that...that place...Jack knows about it too. Not that I hid it there, but..."

"He won't find it," he reassures her, and damn it, now it's easier still to be distracted by the press of her body against him, now that he has the smallest sliver of _something_ to work with and relief flooding his system. "We'll take care of all of it. I just need you to stay safe in the meantime, just in case we need more of your help."

Ada sighs out a long breath, relaxing against Vincent's body. "I hope I made the right choice," she says quietly, scooting a bit closer to his warmth. "I _want_ you to be right about Leo, Mr. Vincent."

She hesitates, then looks away, even the tips of her ears flushing pink. "If...if you bring my uncle here tomorrow, it will probably be quite some time before we're alone again."

It's _cute_ when she's this forward. Vincent's lips curl into a slow smile as he leans forward, making full use of the way her head is turned aside to ghost an open-mouthed kiss to the side of her neck. "And what a shame that will be," he murmurs, a hand coming to lightly rest upon her knee. "I'll have to start missing you all over again."

There's no keeping down the hitched, nervous giggle that wells up in Ada, even as her pulse pounds just from the nearness of him, the ghost of his touch, the heat of his lips. "I-I wish I could have properly-it's so difficult to make myself _presentable_ for you down here," she whispers, her hand trembling as it comes to rest on his chest, fingers splayed out. "I'm afraid I don't look like the kind of girl who's worthy of your attention."

"Ah, now that's really not the case at all." It's stupid how eager he is to nuzzle his face into her hair, to drag his lips to the edge of her ear and nip, tug at the lobe of it as he exhales a hot breath against her skin. "No matter how you present yourself, you're more than worthy… and right now, I can't say I find you any less beautiful than usual."

"Oh-Mr. Vincent, I..." Ada lets out a squeak, a shiver running up her spine at the scrape of his teeth, the heat pooling low in her belly, making her squirm in her seat. No matter how many times she gives in, succumbs to his feather-light too-warm touch, it never fails to make her heart race. She leans into his touch, daring to wriggle her fingers under the neck of his shirt, beneath the buttons to touch the surprisingly soft skin there-she's found most of his skin surprisingly soft, and can't help but enjoy it.

It's far too difficult to resist, especially when her voice is breaking like that, when she's actually bold enough for once to lay a finger on him. Compared to most women and the way they grab for him, it's _nothing_, but perhaps that's part of the appeal-certainly enough to make Vincent's weight shift forward, a hand on her shoulder pushing her back and down until her back hits the mattress.

"The things you do to me, Miss Ada…" Vincent's hand drags up from her knee, catching her skirts in the process as he leans over her, nuzzling into the side of her neck. "If you'd let me," he breathes, "I'd have you right here. I'd take good care of you."

For a mad moment, Ada wants with all her being just to _give in, _to let the beautiful young man take everything she is, to fill her with himself and wash the innocent girl away, making her into the woman she's always dreamed of being.

But...

A slender hand closes over Vincent's, holding it on her thigh, but not allowing it up any farther. "N-not here, Mr. Vincent," she pleads. "Our-when you-when I-not in a _dungeon_."

God, but he can't remember the last time he's been so _frustrated_. Vincent heaves out a breath, lips parting as his tongue flicks out over the thud of her pulse. "Do you have any idea how much I want you?" He's played this game with her for far too long to lose now, and while he won't do anything, he _won't_, he can't resist sliding that much closer, a thigh of his own sliding between her legs, his thumb rubbing lazy circles where he grips her thigh. "I'll take you out of this dungeon, to _my_ bed, where I can properly have you."

She should say no.

It's weak of her, pathetic that she wants to give in, to just shudder under his touch and let him do what he's obviously wanted to for so long, as _she's_ wanted him to for so long...

Even if it _has_ been two years since someone's properly spoken to her, since she's taken a long walk outside, since she's had a man put flowers in her hair and tell her she's lovely, since she's been able to do _anything_ without worrying that she'll be found and used against her own family.

And after all, he's hardly going to want her tomorrow. For all she knows, tomorrow she'll be dead.

Slowly, her breath unsteady, Ada nods. "A-all right. I'd...like to see your room, Mr. Vincent."

It's not the response he expects, but damn if it isn't the response he wants.

He smoothes over the surprise in his expression, rewarding her instead by grasping her chin, pulling her up and into a slow, soft kiss. "Thank you," Vincent breathes, and it's hard not to move too fast when he honestly _does_ want this badly. It's disgusting how he can't stop thinking about it, how Ada is so soft and warm that she'll feel like honey wrapped around him, how he can make her squeak and whimper in that little voice of hers-

_One step at a time_. Vincent reminds himself to breathe as he rises, helping her smooth her skirts as he takes her by the hand, drawing her up from the bed. "It's an honor, you know," he says, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, "to be even afforded this much of your presence."

Ada grips his hand as firmly as she dares, as firmly as is proper for a woman-probably a little more-to keep him from realizing just how much she's shaking. She can't deny how much she wants this, to spend her last night in this man's arms, and spends the journey up the staircases wondering just how it'll feel. She's heard that it hurts, but that's all right, she's a strong girl.

She remembers the feel of him in her hand, on an occasion when she'd been more excited than prudent, and of him slipping up between the cleft in her chest when she'd been _really_ excited. He'd been like velvet over steel, slippery-hard and oddly soft, strangely vulnerable at the same time he was _virile_, and the desire to have him inside of her makes her steps quicken.

It's not nerves, but a quivering anticipation that makes her grab him in the hallway, craning her neck up for a stolen kiss before they even reach his room, shy and hungry for the taste of his mouth.

That's about the end of Vincent's own prudence as he catches her by the shoulder and pushes her back into the door of his bedroom, his mouth hot on hers, teeth catching her lower lip for a gentle, though eager tug. His hands drag down her sides, closing about her hips as he presses close, unable to help himself as his hips press into the swell of her thigh, and a little groan is lost against Ada's lips, that same eagerness making it difficult for him to reach over and unlock the door.

Vincent doesn't want to stop kissing her to pull her inside, but he manages all the same, sucking in a steadying breath as he turns away to draw the curtains as well, open windows with glaring light and prying eyes the _last_ thing they need-

And then he freezes, stomach twisting into knots. "Ah," Vincent manages, trying to keep the shake out of his voice as he addresses the man he's just now realized is situated in one of his chairs, "Gilbert…"

The cigarette falls out of Gilbert's mouth, and he scrambles to grab it before it burns a hole in anything important, like his own legs. His eyes are the size of dinner plates, staring at something that, while he hadn't been able to avoid imagining it, he'd never wanted to see. He coughs, red-faced, standing and grabbing his coat. "Sorry," he mutters, looking at the floor, the ceiling, anywhere except the girl who's been like his little sister for years wrapped around his little brother. _Huh, maybe this is how Elliot feels when he sees Vincent try to sit on my lap._ "I'll just...leave you two..."

Mortified, Ada wriggles out of Vincent's arms, cheeks flaming. "I...ah, yes, your room is very nice, Mr. Vincent," she says loudly, an edge of shamed hysteria in her voice. "B-but I think I'll wait for my uncle in the dungeons after all, I'll find my own way back!"

God _dammit._

There's really no saving this at this point, but he does manage to catch Ada's arm before she can flee. "Not the dungeon," he firmly insists, and fumbles with a key in his pocket, pressing it into her hand. "There's a room I had prepared for you, down the hall, three doors on the right. Stay there, and I'll check on you later after I see what is so _pressing_ here."

Actually, he can't quite remember a time he's been annoyed with Gilbert, but there's always a first for everything. "Don't _leave_, brother," he cheerfully says, turning to grab Gilbert's arm. "If there's something you need, please, do tell."

After Ada disappears out the door, Gilbert does relax slightly, though he has to raise his eyebrows at his little brother. "Sorry, I didn't know you'd be so upset to have me in your room. I'll remember that. Next time I'll leave a note in case you're, uh, _busy_."

A strangled sound of frustration leaves Vincent's throat. "I'm not upset. I just-do you have any idea how long I have been trying to _have_ that girl?" he lowly growls, turning partially away to rake a hand through his bangs. "She's so damnably troublesome, and for once I actually got something out of here, and then _this…_"

At that, Gil can't help but scowl, folding his coat over his arm. "I _like_ that girl," he reminds Vincent on a low growl. "She's worth more than the social butterflies you tumble in the gardens, and I somehow doubt you're planning on doing right by her."

"Oh, _do_ save it, Gil, I was planning on treating her quite well, thank you very much," Vincent grumbles, and god, but it's difficult to get the image of her heaving bosom out of his mind, the way she'd splay out beneath his hands, the sweetness of her mouth-_dammit. _"What did you want, anyway?" he exasperatedly settles upon instead.

Gil bites his cheek, trying not to just spit out, _She's not the kind of girl you roll once and leave, she's the kind of girl you marry or Oz and I will hang you upside down out a window._ He grabs for a cigarette, lighting it up in annoyance. "There was an-issue with my room. I didn't think you'd mind if I worked in here," he mutters, indicating the piles of fabric clustered next to the broken, torn-up dolls.

Vincent nearly grabs the cigarette from him and smokes it himself. "No, that's-that's fine." He wipes a hand over his face, resisting the urge to collapse back into the nearest piece of furniture. "Well, you're here now, at any rate. Take a break."

Gil does as he says, a little too quickly, sagging down into the loveseat. "Thanks. I can't take much of a break, Leo wants this dress finished as soon as possible and he's...a little weird, the last few days." He shudders, thinking of what he'd found when he'd returned to his room after picking up more purple thread from town.

"… He's always weird," Vincent dryly points out, even as he collapses down next to Gilbert. He can't help it, not when his blood is still pumping so hot and so fast, and he wriggles his way closer immediately, a hand snaking up the inside of Gilbert's thigh and his mouth on the side of the man's neck. "What did he do this time?"

Well, honestly, Gil hadn't expected to get too much work done after Vincent returned in any case, though he does make a game attempt to wriggle away, shoving at Vincent's hands. "He-something about wanting to give Elliot a present, there's a stupid diseased alley cat stinking up my room and I think he caught it himself, he was _filthy_-Vince, do you _have_ to-"

It would almost be cute if Vincent didn't know he'd be cleaning up said cat later. "Our master is attempting to be a good lover, let him bask in the glory of it for once," he purrs, his fingers hooking their way into Gilbert's trousers before the man can wriggle away too far. He grabs at Gilbert's other hand, dragging it forward to press it forwardly between his own legs, all while arching up into the touch with a sigh. "_Yes_, I have to. You interrupted us, Gil; what else am I supposed to do?"

"N-not paw all over me!" Gil snaps, trying to squirm away, somehow only ending up underneath his little brother. Vincent's in rare form tonight, most likely because of what he's _interrupted_, and to be fair, it's probably better that it ended this way instead of with Ada in here. He can only _imagine_ what Oz would have had to say about that...

"Stop it, Vince, I'm-" He bites off a protestation, not wanting to say something stupid, something trite. "You can't just use other people this way-"

"The other night, you _liked it_ when I used you," Vincent complains as he sucks on the side of Gilbert's throat, groaning as he wriggles closer. "The things you asked me to do to you-god, Gil." His hips buck forward, cock straining against his trousers as he ruts down into Gilbert's hand, still held firmly in place. "I want your mouth again."

"I-I-I don't know what you're talking about!" He does, remembers _all_ too well how good it had felt to feel Vincent's hand in his hair shoving him down, Vincent hard and thick inside him, driving him down into the mattress-

But they aren't things that are good to remember, so he just stammers, "I was drunk, I didn't know what I was doing, that's not the kind of thing-"

At least Vincent doesn't know about the way Leo had held him down, abused him until he'd shamed himself, even if a tiny dark secret part of him does want someone else to know.

"God, you're a liar." Vincent pulls back, even though he's still grabbing for Gilbert, dragging him close, his breath hot against the curve of his ear. "I won't tell anyone, brother. You should know that by now-you can be yourself around me. I'll make you feel good." His hand fumbles languidly with the fastenings of his trousers, and it almost hurts pulling himself out, with how hard he is. "Get on your knees, and I'll remind you how much you liked having my cock in your mouth."

The shame is a sick, twisting thing in his belly when Gil feels his cock fill and swell at those words, at the breathy, commanding tone of them. He's disgusting, he knows, with the way he groans, sinking down to his knees on the floor, mouth suddenly gone dry. He looks up at Vincent, not sure whether it's worse to protest when it's so _obvious_ what he wants, or to give in like the basest whore. "I..."

"Shh," is Vincent's croon to follow as he tangles a hand in Gilbert's hair, puling his head back slightly as the tip of his cock rubs over his parted lips. "It's fine, Gilbert. I know what you like. Go on, open your mouth, and I'll give you what you want."

God, he shouldn't be grateful for this.

Grateful is the last thing he should feel when Vincent tugs him forward, rubbing the thick, dripping tip of his cock over his lips, and he can't help but open his mouth, dragging his tongue over them for a taste. "Vince..." he breathes, golden eyes flicking up to meet his brother's, tugging back against that hand.

_Make me_.

Vincent shudders, the gaze that Gilbert locks him with so obvious, so _damnably_ obvious that there's no helping the way his hands tighten in Gilbert's hair, dragging him forward with a firm, unrelenting yank. The way his cock slides between those lips, stretching them wide, to the way it drags over Gilbert's tongue, everything so hot and wet-it's _obscene_, and Vincent groans, his hips jerking up, shoving himself deeper down Gilbert's throat until he's holding Gilbert's head down, pressing his cock in so deep that he doubts his brother can properly breathe.

"You're such a whore," he pants out, his eyes fluttering, hands loosening only slightly when he feels Gilbert gag and choke, even though that feels good, too. "Go on, Gil. Suck me like one, or I'll hold your face down and make you." His hips rut up at that, pulling back just slightly to savor the wet, sloppy shove forward again. "Or would you like that?"

Gil's so hard he _hurts_.

He doesn't touch himself, though. It feels good to hurt like this, to be shoved down until he can't breathe, Vincent's cock stretching him out and bumping painfully against the back of his throat as he chokes, struggles for air. His hands come up to scrabble helplessly at Vincent's thighs, tears filling his eyes as he gags, nonetheless straining up for more whenever he forgets not to.

The taste is everywhere, filling his mouth as the scent of the man fills his nose, and for an urgent second, Gil lunges forward, choking himself more as he takes as much cock as he can, the tip of his nose brushing against Vincent's stomach before he has to pull back, coughing, struggling against Vincent's hands-though honestly, he doesn't struggle very hard. He's stronger than Vincent, knows it, and perhaps that's even better, knowing that he's here because he _wants_ to be, a depraved, degraded creature sucking a man's cock on his knees.

"You're so _good_ at this, Gilbert." Vincent can't help but shove his hips forward, can't help but drag Gilbert down into each thrust, not when Gil so obviously wants it, _craves it_, even between the struggling against Vincent's hands and the desperate inhales through his nose. He only has the mind to draw back once or twice, all to rub over those swollen, bruised lips, slick with drool and precome, all to savor that _silde_ back down Gilbert's tongue before he bumps the back of his throat, feeling Gilbert writhe and squirm the whole way, as if he wants to get away.

God, it just makes him harder.

"You're being such a good boy, sucking me off like you've done this all your life. You really are a slut, aren't you?" His fingers twist and fist into Gilbert's hair, holding him down for the next relentless thrust down his throat, all while his booted foot slides between Gilbert's legs, pressing down against the hardness of his cock. "Look how turned on you are. I bet you'll come just by having me shoved down your throat."

For a panicked, blinding second, Gil thinks Leo's talked. How else would Vincent know exactly what to do, stepping down on him-_useless trash, that's all you are_, a voice hisses that sounds too much like his own-in a way that shouldn't feel so good, should _hurt_, shouldn't make him quake as if he's about to pass out?

But no, Leo knows better than to tell Vincent _anything_. Everyone does. Vincent's too good at using things against people, just as he's doing now, using every reaction, every rutting up of Gil's hips, every sloppy, messy, choked slide of his lips against him in the cruelest, kindest way. The moan that he lets out around Vincent's cock is positively _depraved_, a whiny, needy thing as he sucks and slurps, dragging his tongue over every bit of cock he can reach as his hips grind up, as he looks up with nothing but pleading in his eyes, curling his tongue around the head of Vincent's cock as he moans.

Vincent curses, and his grip in Gilbert's hair is viselike, twisting and pulling until he's sure he's taking out hair in the process. Not that he cares right now, not when Gilbert looks positively sinful at his feet, sucking on his cock like he _needs it_, and god, if that isn't enough, nothing else ever can be.

He doesn't warn Gilbert when he comes, and instead pulls out just enough that the head of his cock still slides between his brother's reddened lips-all the better to spill over his tongue, to make him cough and choke even more as his hands hold Gilbert in place, cock twitching and pulsing as he drips down his lips and chin with a satisfied groan.

The noises Gil makes are closer to some wounded animal than a man, keening, gasping, coughing as he tries to swallow, lapping and suckling at the head of Vincent's cock as long as he can, probably longer than is entirely comfortable for the other man. His hands ball into fists on his thighs, and he groans, straining forward for more, his tongue flicking out to drag through the mess on his face.

When he releases Vincent's softening cock, it's with a whine, and the shaky plea, "Vince...please, I...h-haven't I been...good for you?"

He's so hard he's going to pass out, with only the flat of Vincent's boot to rut against, and god, he _aches._

"_So_ good," Vincent breathlessly agrees, his hands releasing Gilbert's hair to haul him up and off of his knees, dragging him forward into Vincent's lap with his hands grabbing for the fastenings of Gilbert's trousers. "You're perfect, Gil, just _perfect_," he mumbles, licking a stripe up Gilbert's chin to his lips, tasting himself as his hand finds its way around Gilbert's cock. "God, you're so hard. If you like it that much, I'll put you in your place more often."

Gil's face flames, lurching into Vincent's touch, letting him take his cock out then slapping his hands away, tangling his own in Vincent's hair. "Don't be like that," he pants, hands twisting so tightly it's got to hurt, dragging his head down. "Just because I got off on that-I want your mouth."

Vincent laughs at that. "Oh, _do you?_ Do you really think you were _that_ good, Gil?" He shoves Gilbert onto his back, splaying him over the chaise. "It's a good thing," he breathes, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear as he bends down, tongue flicking out to drag a hot, sloppy lick over the head of Gilbert's flushed cock, "that I love the taste of you. Otherwise, I'd punish you for being so _rude._"

Gil's half of the mind to shove Vincent down onto _his_ knees, holding his head still and fucking his face until he cries-until that sinful slick tongue drags over his cock, and Gil stops thinking about _anything_.

He tangles a hand in Vincent's hair, but it's gentle, stroking, even as his hips thrust up, bumping the head of his cock against Vincent's lips, rubbing a wet streak along one pale cheek. "You'll take care of me, right, Vince?" he breathes, urging him down.

Rather than reply, Vincent shows him, his lips parting as he mouths Gilbert's cock, draws the head of it into his mouth and then swallows him whole in one long, slick slide of his mouth, groaning as his hands loosely wrap about Gilbert's hips and he nuzzles down into his brother's belly, a fast, eager breath drawn in through his nose. Gilbert is so _hard, _pulsing against his tongue, and Vincent sucks hard, slurping as he pulls back to draw a short, fast breath, lapping at him all the while.

"You're so perfect, Gil," he hoarsely breathes, "so perfect. Don't hold back, let me taste more of you already-"

It's almost a bad thing, how _good_ Vincent is like this, eager and skillful and so, so hungry it makes Gil harden until he's dripping, thick and swollen in Vincent's mouth. "Yeah," he grunts, and shoves Vincent's head down hard, the way he knows he loves it, guiding him with both hands as he thrusts up, pulling out with every long stroke until just the head is stretching pretty lips wide, then in until he's buried down Vincent's throat. "Always the genius," he mutters, so close to the edge he can nearly taste it. "Always so good at everything, aren't you? Perfect cocksucker." His voice is a soft rasp, and he groans as he loses himself, head falling back as he yanks out, doing something he _rarely_ permits himself and covering Vincent's cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his chin, even his eyelids as he wraps a hand around his own length, stroking slowly until he's finished.

"God," he groans, for a mad second imagining just how beautiful his master would look like this, before banishing that image with the rest of everything he's thought that's too perverted to see the light of day.

Vincent shudders hard, his tongue flicking out over his lips, licking them clean first before he lifts a hand to wipe over his eyes and face, fingers brought to his mouth shortly afterwards to be sucked clean. "You really… are just perfect, aren't you?" he breathes, wriggling his way up Gilbert's body, tracing slick fingers over the other man's lips. "You know just how to make me feel good, too."

Just because he knows he _shouldn't_ do these things with his brother doesn't mean Gil doesn't _want_ to do them, and there's even the ghost of a smile on his face when he parts his lips easily, closing them around wet fingers even as he drags Vincent onto his lap, stroking a long-fingered hand down his back. He pulls his head back just to place a kiss on Vincent's cheek instead. "You're really a pervert, little brother."

"You seem to like it well enough," Vincent purrs, contently draping his arms over Gilbert's shoulders and nuzzling himself into the other man's grasp. "We always take care of each other like that, I suppose. Mmn, I'll even help you with the, ah, problem in your bedroom, as soon as I feel like moving…"

That of all things shouldn't bring a little shudder of relief to Gil, but it does, and it's good enough to hold Vincent tighter, sort of enjoying the smell of him, the feeling of the younger man in his grasp. "Thank you. Oh, and you said you finally got something out of Ada? That is, assuming it wasn't just..."

"She told me, theoretically, where the location of the key is… though I'm not sure if I believe her," Vincent murmurs, trailing his fingers absently down Gilbert's chest. "She'll probably talk more after I fulfill my end of the bargain-that is, bringing her uncle to her."

Gil can't help but chuckle at that, relieved that at least they've made progress. Maybe he'll be able to look after Ada after all, something that he'd thought a lost cause. "People should know better than to lie to you. Are we not going to get the key? I sort of doubt Duke Baskerville cares about things like bedtimes when it comes to something like this."

"It was too easy," he elaborates on a sigh. "She claims it's in some 'place' that you all found on the day of Oz's first coming of age ceremony. I highly doubt something of that importance would be kept so… mm, well. It's a location so obscure to the Vessalius family, and so very strongly within Glen's grasp of power that I have a hard time believing Leo wouldn't have _sensed it_ there by now. So we'll get the key, but I doubt it's there."

Gil sits up, a little quicker than he'd intended. His mind traces back through that day, as if there's anywhere _else_ it could possibly be, even when he knows there isn't. "I know it," he says slowly, though he flinches away from the idea of the place. "I...I didn't recognize it at the time, because I didn't remember anything from back then, but...do you remember that grave at the Baskerville place? Master Glen's sister's, the one no one but Jack would tell us about?"

"… Hard to forget, considering all of the nonsense he's spouted about her in recent times," Vincent quietly snorts, expression sobering as he leans back, straightening his own clothing with a sigh. "More importantly, I'll need to have Oscar brought here by tomorrow evening, or she'll never trust another word out of my mouth. Hopefully, our master will be… amenable to this."

"Why should he care? Oscar isn't a threat." It's an uncomfortable subject; he's still not entirely happy with Vincent for what had happened to the man, no matter whose orders it had been under. "Besides, what will you do if she's lying? I...I don't think I could let you kill either of them. Just so you know."

"Because it gives into the girl's demands-come now, you know this is a power struggle more than anything," the younger man says with a wave of his hand. "Of course she's lying-there's no debate about that, but she _does_ know where it is. She just is testing us at this point."

"So this is one of your chess games. And you're deciding whether to give up one of your pawns to take a queen." Or something. Gil's never had much interest for games, not like Vincent.

Vincent's lips curl into a slow smile. "I'm not giving up anything, Gilbert. Believe it or not, but I'd rather not see any harm come to her. You are quite fond of her, after all."

Gil grabs a cigarette, lighting up with a shrug. "Whatever reason you need. She's a good girl, Vince. The two of you might even make a nice couple, someday. She seems to like you."

That makes him twitch a bit. "Most women do."

Oho, has he hit a nerve? That's unusual, for Vincent, and Gil is intrigued enough to press. "I mean, you couldn't ask for a prettier girl, probably. And she's rich. And she wouldn't run around on you. And she's sweet, you know. She'd make a good wife."

This again. "Gilbert, I've had to entertain her ideas of eloping enough for one day," Vincent grouses, and god, he nearly steals a cigarette. "Do me a favor and stop talking about marriage."

"I'd like to see you married. I'd like to see you _happy_. I'm your big brother," he reminds Vincent, even if he does follow it with a more-than-brotherly tug of Vincent's hair. "It's my job to make sure you're taken care of."

"I don't need a wife and I certainly don't need it to be Ada Vessalius." It comes out as a bit more of a defensive snap than he'd like, and he bats Gilbert's hands away with a snort. "I have you, and that's all I need."

"I'm not your _wife_," Gilbert growls, and he takes an annoyed huff of his cigarette, nearly dumping Vincent off his lap, but thinking better of it at the last second. "What are you going to do when-"

He stops himself. He'd been about to ask what Vincent was going to do when this was all over, when Gil moves on and there are no wars to fight, but he remembers. "Never mind," he mutters, the sudden cold settling over him. Vincent is so warm in his lap; it's easy to forget that he doesn't intend to stay there forever.

Vincent merely offers him a smile as he wriggles away, not bothering to touch on _that_ particular subject further. "You know, if I didn't bother taking care of our master's cat, you could just stay in here with me."

Gil lets him go, resisting (barely) the urge to pull him back. It's harder to be intimate with him when they're not _being intimate_, usually because Vincent's so prone to pawing over him whether it's appropriate or not-but just now, it's a bit too cold without the warmth of his little brother nearby. He takes another drag on his cigarette, scolding himself for...well, everything, really. It's a rare day he can't think of something. "It's peeing on my bed," he mutters. "I'm sure it is. And aren't you going to need this room free when you track down Ada?"

"I seriously doubt it's doing anything to your bed," Vincent sighs, and he looks back at Gilbert, amused. "So interested in having me spread her legs, brother? I thought you would relish the idea of preventing it."

"More like I doubt she's staying where she's told. As much as I'd like to help her, I really don't fancy the idea of tracking her down again." For someone without the ability to run faster than a close-legged trot, Ada's been damned hard to locate, time and time again.

Vincent's eyes roll to the ceiling. "Just follow the sound of her bouncing-never mind," he mutters, waving a hand in dismissal. "I can find her easily enough, it isn't as if there's anywhere she can escape to. At any rate, I do need to head to Pandora and retrieve her uncle… if you weren't working on that dress, I'd actually ask you to do it, as I'm sure he's going to be so happy to see me."

Gil worries at his lip, thinking. Doubtless Oscar wouldn't be much happier to see _him_, but that's nothing compared to the welcome Vincent is likely to get from that quarter-which is no less than he deserves, of course, no matter how necessary the information he holds. "What's it worth to you? The dress is easy enough, it's not as difficult as making one for a real woman."

"Honestly, I don't think it will matter much either way… and I don't want you to have any more on your plate, Gil." Vincent leans in close, planting his hands to either side of Gilbert on the chaise, and pressing his lips to the curve of one cheekbone. "I'll deal with this. Just be prepared to go on a wild goose chase regarding the location of this key once in awhile."

"That's all I do anyway." Still, he can't help but smile as he settles in, tugging the mannequin over in front of him to work on the waistline. "Be careful, all right? He might not have a chain, but Oscar's..." He trails off, realizing with a little sick twist of his stomach just how little he has to warn Vincent, and how much it should be the other way around.

"Aren't you sweet, being worried about me." Vincent's smile is genuinely fond as he makes for the door. "Enjoy your dressmaking, Gil."

Leo's up to something.

It's always been easy to tell. Maybe most people aren't good at reading what's behind the messy hair and glasses-or at least _used_ to be-but Elliot has always at least been able to tell when there's something wrong. Of course, it's a bit easier now that all he has to realize is that Leo hasn't summoned him for three days.

He shouldn't, _shouldn't_ be thinking of how he'd seen Leo draped around Vincent's neck, clinging to his elder brother like a lifeline. Leo's supposed to cling to _him_ like that, not his brother, not Vincent.

It's enough to make him cagey. Once upon a time he would have grabbed his black-bladed sword and headed to Pandora at a time like this, demanding to be knocked flat on his ass by the master swordsman Xerxes Break. Now he doesn't even have that luxury, can't even _pace_, and instead resorts to sending annoyed mental touches out at Leo.

_Poke_.

_Pooooke._

As if he isn't distracted _enough_.

The mental prodding is enough to drive him mad, and Leo growls, briefly going through a list of everything before even considering letting Elliot out and about. Not only has he been in and out of Gilbert's vicinity for fittings-how did women put up with this on a regular basis, really-but there's that little surprise he's had stowed away in Gilbert's room for a pair of days now, one that he's had to bathe and nurse back to health before even considering it suitable as a present.

Never mind that Ada Vessalius is a pain as per usual, and he's less than comfortable with having sent Vincent away to Pandora, all to achieve her uncle.

As a distraction from less than favorable distractions, Leo coaxes the cat into the washroom-what better place, at any rate, for just a few moments?-and locks the door, sighing as he leans back against it and frowning at the scratches he's acquired down his arms. Really, one would think the animal would be a bit more grateful…

"_What?_" he finally grumbles, shoving at his bangs. "Do you have any idea how annoying that is, _White Knight?_"

It feels like nothing so much as the turning of a key on his prison cell, and Elliot forms in the air with a groan of relief, stretching arms he hasn't even really _had_ until now. "You think that's annoying?" he snaps, scanning the room quickly to make certain there's no danger. "Try being locked inside your mind for three days. Where is-everyone?"

It's a near thing that he doesn't ask where a certain man is in particular. He'd promised, after all, even if he hates the ugly way the suspicion twists inside of him.

"Vincent is on an errand to Pandora, Gilbert is… resting," Leo dryly replies, his eyebrows arching high at the manner in which Elliot appears. "There's been a lot going on over the past few days-I thought you would appreciate a break from it all."

"You were wrong." Elliot sheathes his sword, though he does relax quite a bit at hearing that they're alone. It's always been a relief in this house, and knowing that there's no one to mind if they lock the door is even nicer, something they'd never been allowed as teenagers. "It's annoying in there with Jabberwock. You should at least let _me_ go to Pandora if you're going to give me a break."

_That_ makes Leo look at him, decidedly put out. "Let _you_ go to Pandora? Why in the world would you want to? And be nice to Jabberwock, she's very sensitive."

"Jabberwock is a bully," Elliot mutters, nursing what would be a scratch if he'd had the body to receive it. He cranes his head, trying to look out the window. "I'd like to see Oz. And...whoever else is still...around," he says, trying for casual, trying not to get that pleading tone in his voice he knows shows up whenever he's looking for information he doesn't really want.

"You can't just go and sit with Oz and chat like you used to, Elliot," Leo reminds him on a sigh as he pushes away from the door. He artfully avoids mentioning anyone _else._ "There's a reason why we keep him sealed within Pandora, you know. If Jack willed it enough, he could break through Gilbert's seal upon him again."

"He didn't break through the whole time he was here," Elliot points out, tugging on Leo's sleeve to bring him close. "Why would he want to? Come on, you saw how unhappy Oz looked. Maybe he'll be able to keep Jack down easier if he's got a little encouragement, you know?"

"_Or_ he could cause a huge mess like he did only a couple of days ago yet again," Leo points out with a frown. "Elliot, I don't want you in the crossfire of that. B-Rabbit isn't just any chain, but a chain specifically meant to _destroy_ anything connected to the Abyss-that includes other chains."

Somehow, Elliot swallows down the observation that it sounds a hell of a lot like The Mad Hatter. He hadn't mentioned his father, and it had turned out worse than he'd imagined-but not mentioning Gil had turned out all right. The longer he puts it off, the longer he won't have to know if something...less good turns out to be true. "Can you take him?" he asks instead.

"Without all five chains, it's… a less than desirable match, but I won't die," he allows, frown deepening. "What does that have to do with it?"

"You could come along. For insurance. If you're really that worried about me." Elliot blinks at him, pleading. "He didn't kill me before, Leo. I _can_ hold my own. I just want to talk to him, chain to chain."

"It's really not a good idea," Leo exasperatedly replies, turning away with a shake of his head. "Look, Elliot, in case you haven't noticed, the Baskervilles are not exactly _accepted_ by most people just yet. There's a reason I stay cooped up in this place, regardless of Jack."

"How am I supposed to notice things?" Elliot demands, grabbing Leo, hauling him back. "You haven't let me leave Nightray Manor except to go get Ada Vessalius, and you don't tell me _anything_. You've been too busy hanging around Vincent, I guess..."

"What is that even supposed to mean?" the smaller man snaps back, swatting Elliot's hands away. "He's my servant, I'm telling him things to _do._"

"I guess you told him to put his arms around you, then?" Elliot doesn't mean to bring it up, but he's had nothing to do for days but think about it, stew about it. "If I hadn't shown up when Jack was in the courtyard, with him putting his _hands_ all over you-"

Leo settles on a flat, blank stare. "You're _kidding, _I hope." He snorts, shaking his head. "The last thing I wanted to do was end up in a situation like that-it wasn't my _choice_ to start clinging to him, you know."

Elliot's face flushes, more angry with himself for being bothered than with Leo, though Vincent is still suspect. Still, it's been said now, he might as well finish it. "I don't like seeing him touching you! You said yourself there was no reason for him to be touching you! And then you didn't let me out, I thought-"

"He was _protecting me_, Elliot-that's his job, and believe it or not, he does a fairly decent job of it," Leo interrupts with an irritated snap. "I promised you nothing was going on, and I meant it. There's no need for you to be so damnably jealous of him."

"It's hard to tell what there's a need for and what there isn't when you don't _tell_ me anything! I've said before that I don't want to be protected from the truth any longer! And Vincent is a pervert," he ends, irrationally, irrelevantly.

"The truth is that you're a fledgling chain and have no real chance against B-Rabbit, so you need to stay the hell away from Oz until we have this situation properly under control!" Leo spits back, forcibly resisting the urge to pick up a nearby lamp and throw it. "Demios is one of our most effective weapons against him right now, so of _course _he would take the forefront in a situation like that-and Vincent is too busy trying to get between Ada Vessalius' legs, so just stop _assuming_ things."

"What the hell else am I supposed to do?" Elliot shouts, and if he can't throw things at Leo anymore, he can at least still loom over him, more effectively than ever with his new height. "You tell me he's after Gil, then he's too busy chasing Ada Vessalius? You're trying to make me believe the worst of him so I won't suspect the truth!"

"You just said it yourself, didn't you? He's a _pervert_," Leo snidely drawls, glaring up at Elliot with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "Why would I even _look at him_ now that you're here? So much for your noble ego."

"I don't know, why did you leave me in that _prison_ for three days? What the hell were you doing that I couldn't see, huh? What are you hiding?"

Really, he _could_ just open up the washroom door and reveal one of them, but it's the principle of the damned thing. "It really bothers you when I don't tell you every single little detail, doesn't it?"

"Given how it's turned out in the past when you hide things from me, I think I'm entitled to be a little nosy!" Elliot snaps. "Or is this something that's going to kill me too?"

Leo flinches back as if he's been slapped-and what better equivalent is there to it, honestly? "Fair enough," he mutters, the will to argue suddenly sapped from him as quickly as anything. "I suppose it's only fair that you'd want to keep your wife in line like every other noble, all things considered."

Elliot's face twists into a snarl, one hand slamming hard into the wall, the other grabbing at Leo's hand. "Fine, then give me the ring back, if that's what you think of me and my family!"

"You don't want to know _half_ of what I think of your family," Leo hisses back before he can properly bite his tongue, wrenching his hand away as his vision clouds red. "But _you're_ supposed to be different! Stop being such an idiot, I wasn't doing anything to _hurt you_, and if you'd take your head out of your ass, maybe you'd realize that!"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Elliot roars, too far gone to see sense at this point, even if it _is_ something he knows in the back of his mind he'll regret later. "I'm not the one keeping secrets around here! I'd rather be on that damned leash than locked up in that prison but you want me out of the way!"

It's a miracle the nearest piece of furniture doesn't make it into Elliot's face, but damn if the washroom's door doesn't nearly make it off of its hinges when Leo wrenches it open. "Secret number one," he snaps as the cat dashes out, seeing freedom and securing comfort by immediately leaping up onto Leo's bed. "I've spent the last couple of days nursing him back to health, you're bloody welcome."

The abrupt change of subject and tone rocks Elliot back on his heels, staring confused at the flash of fur until it lands. His eyes go wide, confused, darting between Leo and the cat and back again, with that sinking feeling of dread that lets him know that yes, even by his own standards, he's in the wrong.

He turns away, arms crossed, trying to catch his breath as he cools down. _Come on, Elliot, be an adult for once. An adult doesn't wait until too late and apologize through a third person, he does it like a man._ "I'm sorry." The words are forced, but no less genuine for that.

Leo shrugs, stiff and forced. It's no small amount of effort to keep his jaw locked so that his lower lip doesn't tremble like he's five. "You were right. You have every right to be wary of what I hide from you."

"But..." Elliot's hands ball into fists, and he turns, shoving Leo up against the wall, bare inches from his face. "But you don't _need_ to hide anything from me! Whatever you don't tell me, I'd _understand_!"

"Not everything." Leo shuts his eyes briefly, drawing in a steadying breath. "There's nothing else to tell right now, anyway-unless you're counting the other half of your _present_ that I'd really rather not have ruined. Now let me go, Elliot, before I hit you."

Slowly, with a tremendous effort of will, Elliot lets him go, backing up several paces. His cheeks are ruddy with shame, shoulders sagging. "I'm sorry," he says again, and even if the words feel like broken glass coming up, it's better to have them out. "You trusted me when I wanted to go off by myself, and I should have done the same." What's worse is that Leo's right, he really is no different from any of the high-and-mighty nobles who don't mind who they step on, as long as they get what they want.

_Damn it, I was supposed to be better than that._

Worse still is that he _knows_ Leo has good reason to dislike his family, knowing that after all, it had been _his_ death they were plotting, and the disgrace of that still aches, years later. "You have every right not to want to be a Nightray. I wouldn't either, if I were you."

Another shrug, and Leo looks pointedly away, unable to stop his lower lip from trembling this time. "It really doesn't matter." And it doesn't, not really, not when he's just tired of this and it's honestly _true_ what Elliot says about how he hides things. He should have known better. "Just-forget about it, and go play with your cat. It's not a ring, but that would just hinder your swordsmanship, anyway…"

"I..."

_Didn't mean to make you cry._

"You should just throw stuff at me when I get like that," Elliot grumbles, sort of wishing Leo _had_. He sits on the edge of the bed, eyeing the little cat, and god, it's a _cute_ thing, giant eyes and paws too big for its body. "Besides, you wearing my ring is all the ring I need."

"Didn't want to break your damned heirloom furniture," Leo crossly mutters, crossing his arms over his chest as he still lingers a few paces away, less than inclined to initiate physical contact just yet. At least Elliot looks cute like this, sitting with the little tabby cat that Leo had plucked off the street, and the animal simply looks at him, staring wide-eyed until it reaches out a paw, tapping at the crest upon Elliot's chest.

"I'd prefer that than hurting your feelings, I didn't-"

Elliot's breath catches in his throat at the way the little cat looks at him, the soft pad of a paw nudging at his chest, and he feels the scowl drop off his face in a sudden surge of...

He swallows hard, a grin tugging at his lips as he reaches up to unfasten the ribbon from his hair, dangling it just out of paw's reach for the little kitten.

"It doesn't matter," Leo quietly repeats, gaze lidding as he sighs, giving into the urge to sidle closer once more and drop onto the bed opposite Elliot. "… So you like him?" he deviates, reaching out a hand to idly pluck at the tail of the cat between them. "I figured because you could never have a cat before, now was a decent enough time."

It's hard to keep the smile off his face when the kitten is batting at his ribbon, even as the hair falls down loose over his shoulders. He jerks it back up, laughing, watching the cat roll over onto its back to strain upwards. "I'm surprised you remembered," he says softly. "Though I guess I shouldn't be."

At that, Leo snorts. "I have a much better memory than you with most things," he points out, and it's with a half-hearted prod of Jabberwock that a little burst of black feathers appear, giving him enough of a chance to snatch one from midair and poke the kitten with it. "You were always after Ada's cats, don't think I didn't notice."

"I-I wasn't _after_ them-they used to come up to _me_," Elliot protests, though it's hard to sound too convincing when he's grinning ear to ear, tickling the writhing ball of fur rolling around on his lap. With his other hand, he lays it on Leo's, squeezing just hard enough to feel the imprint of the ring. "You're too nice to me when I'm an ass."

"Your fuse is just shorter," Leo tiredly returns, frowning as he glances down at Elliot's hand, though he makes no attempt to pull his own away. "… If you really want to see Oz," he reluctantly begins, "I could have Gil increase the seal temporarily. But it's still not a good idea. We're better off staying here."

"It's not even that I want to see him," Elliot admits. He brushes the ribbon over the kitten's tail, then rolls it gently over onto its side, closer to Leo. "I just know the look of a guy who's losing all his hope. Leo, he...when Jack was out, he couldn't attack me. _Oz_ couldn't. I don't want him to lose that battle he's fighting."

"There's not even a battle _he_ can fight," comes Leo's exasperated response, even as he watches the kitten snag hold of a feather and bite down into it. "_We're_ the ones doing it, not him. I'm not sure what you think visiting him is going to accomplish."

"But he _is_ fighting." Elliot pokes the kitten with a finger, letting the little thing bite at it for a few seconds. "Just because it's hopeless doesn't mean he should give up. I'm glad he's fighting. But if there's some other way you can think of to help him..."

"If there was something, I wouldn't still be spinning my wheels after two years," Leo mutters. "Tell his sister to be more forthcoming and perhaps this will end quite a bit sooner. Until then, all I can do is wait and hope Jack doesn't somehow gain more power."

Deciding that the earlier fight is as good as over, Elliot leans over and brushes a quick kiss across Leo's cheek. "You've been spinning your wheels because you're half a team. You've got me back now. I'm _sure_ we'll get to the bottom of this."

Leo's expression twists wry. "This isn't a 'mystery' you can pick apart and solve, Elliot," he sighs, rolling the kitten back over towards Elliot as it starts to nod off. "Jack has put himself in a perfect position and he knows it. It's just a game to him at this point."

It's hard to keep his composure when the kitten is _yawning_, and god, Elliot hadn't even known kittens could _do_ that. "Yeah?" he asks absently, stroking a gentle finger over the little cat's ears. "Then why hasn't he won yet? You think he likes being in prison?"

"Because we've been careful, and Gilbert is bound and determined not to let anything happen to Oz. That's why he expends so much energy on those seals," Leo explains, exhaling a slow breath and starting to relax-eventually. "Also… I bet he wants a chance to talk to the previous Glen before me, if he can manage it…"

That startles Elliot, blinking, confused. "Can you do that? Let the rest of them...talk through you?" He shifts uncomfortably. "Do they...are they always around, seeing what you see?"

"Dunno." Leo can't help but be amused. "Sometimes, they influence things, though… or at least, I think they do. It's hard to explain. I thought you liked the thrill of an audience, Elliot."

"Th-the possibility of it!" Elliot turns back to the cat, trying not to look quite as suddenly panicked as he feels. "Not people I've never met staring at me while I-I mean, am I-when we-are they all-"

"Your prowess is greatly admired." More accurately, Leo simply enjoys torturing him-revenge for their fight, as far as he's concerned.

If there weren't a kitten sleeping on his lap, Elliot would probably have run from the room. As it is, all the blood drains from his face, and he focuses on anything, anything but Leo's face. "I-that's-how many are-Leo, that's the kind of thing you should _tell_ a person!"

"Dozens," Leo deadpans. "Maybe more. It's awfully noisy in my head sometimes." Which is the truth, of course, but certainly not when he's having sex. Being with Elliot makes it quite easy to block that sort of thing out, though really, Elliot doesn't have to know that right now.

"Is it-can they see everything? Or can they..._everything_ everything? Can you...when we're...can you close your eyes next time?" Elliot finishes in a small voice, not quite able to promise that it's _never_ going to happen again, even if the idea makes him cringe right now.

Leo blinks up at him, _terribly _innocent. "Now why would I do that? You always look incredible when we're together, Elliot. There's no need to be shy."

If it's possible to turn any redder, Elliot doesn't want to know about it. "That's-only-I don't want anyone else to see me like that! Especially not weird murderers I've never even met!"

"… Murderers?" Leo drawls, a slim brow arching. "Please. And anyway, I might just be teasing you."

Elliot gives Leo a one-armed shove, weighing his chances of moving the kitten without waking it, deciding he'd better not. "The last Glen _did_ have his followers kill everyone in Sablier," he points out. "The Baskervilles told us, the first time we met them. Whatever the reasons might have been, there's blood on his hands, and a lot of it."

"All because if he hadn't killed them, they would have been pulled into the Abyss and turned into chains courtesy of Jack," Leo swiftly defends, a brief, amused glance tossed down at the kitten now splayed out over Elliot's lap, fast asleep. "Would you have had them all suffer instead?"

Elliot shoots him a suspicious glare. "Is that him talking to me right now? How would I know if it is?"

The next stare Leo offers is decidedly put out. "One of these days, you're going to have to start trusting what comes out of my mouth, you know."

"Hey, you're the one who didn't tell me we always have an _audience_!" Elliot argues. "If you hide things from me-" But that's too close to their earlier fight, and he bites off the rest of that sentence, trying not to start it again. "I just mean...you caught me off guard."

"I was teasing you," Leo blandly replies, not allowing himself to get riled once more. "Trust me, they have little interest, and the only time they want to provide some sort of input is when I'm about to die. Generally, that isn't during sex."

Elliot sighs out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding, finally taking his chances, scooping up the furry body keeping his thigh warm and depositing it on the bed, somehow managing not to wake the kitten. "Good. I want you all to myself." And that's the crux of it, anyway.

"If they were spying on me, trust me, you would have heard me complain quite a bit more," Leo returns with a sniff. "And how many times do I have to tell you that I _am_ all yours?"

"It's not...the kind of thing we used to talk about."

It had been all stolen kisses and hastily-locked doors, springing apart at the sound of footsteps, hands shaking with nerves and clumsy, unpracticed kisses back then, constantly worried that they'd be found out, that things would change, that it would _end_. Now that they have forever, as twisted as it is...

"I'm just...realizing that we didn't really know each other as well as I thought we did." Not that it's a bad thing, necessarily. Just different.

That shouldn't _bother_ Leo as much as it does.

"Just because I didn't tell you about a few things that happened… doesn't mean that I didn't-" _Tell you about me, about what I liked and how I liked you_. Leo frowns, shaking his head dismissively as he flicks away a few stray feathers with a sigh. "Never mind. I know it probably seems like… I changed a lot."

"Honestly? I can't tell." Elliot swallows hard, tucking his legs up onto the bed. "You were always so good at keeping secrets, I can't even tell if you've changed or if you just never showed me this part of you. I miss when you used to smile and talk about books." He smiles, a little sadly. "Guess you kept a lot hidden behind those glasses."

A little shrug follows, and Leo slowly lets himself flop to the side, pressing his cheek into the mattress once he hits the bed properly. "There wasn't much to smile about until I brought you back… nor have I exactly had the time to enjoy a book properly."

"Tell me." Quiet, but insistent, though Elliot refrains from poking Leo like he'd been doing mentally, during his three days of confinement. "Do _you_ think you've changed? Or were you always like this? I...you don't need to worry. I love you like this too." There's probably not a way Leo could make him take that ring off Leo's hand, no matter how angry he gets.

God, he doesn't want to talk about this. "… There wasn't anything before I met you, and I was fine with that," he slowly offers nonetheless. "I was used to it, and so it was easy. But then to go from that to being at your side, to nothing again…" Swallowing hard, Leo briefly shuts his eyes. "I'm just really tired, Elliot. I didn't want any of this-being Glen, I mean. But I don't have a choice, so I can understand if it's… just not the same to you."

Slowly, trying not to disturb the cat-got to name it, he thinks idly-too much, Elliot moves to Leo's side, sitting with his back against the headboard. It's a few long moments of thoughts before he says, "It's not the same. Not really. But I'm not the same either." Tentatively, still wary of their earlier tension, he slides his hand closer over the bedspread. "If you can still care about me as a chain, why would I mind that you're Glen?"

"Because I don't just get to sit in a library all day anymore," Leo dully replies, his fingers curling loosely into the bedspread before inching closer as well. "Because I'm not your servant, I can't be. Because I'm doing a dozen things you don't agree with and I'm too tired to even repeat the reasons why I'm doing them. You're a chain, but you're still _Elliot._ You're not so different."

The sound of Leo so tired, so hurting, tugs at Elliot's heart, makes him wince. He scoots his hand just close enough that his fingertips brush over the back of Leo's hand-a silent invitation to contact, something too embarrassing to say aloud. "Yeah, well, I can't be any kind of master to you, and I don't have...any of the things that made me who I was. I don't have my family, or my pride, or any goals because the only thing that matters to me is keeping you safe. I could understand if you wanted...someone..._real_."

"You're stupid," is the immediate, breathless admonishment to follow. "All I've done since you've been gone is throw myself into this horrible excuse of a dukedom, hide in this room, and write pathetic piano scores." Leo's fingers lift, just slightly, enough to twine themselves loosely through Elliot's. "I'm not even good at pining. Why would I ever want anyone else? I just wanted to die."

That touch, no matter how slight, is all the invitation Elliot needs. He reaches over, grabbing Leo and hauling him close enough that he can wrap both his arms around the smaller man, burying his nose into the juncture of neck and shoulder. "Stop it," he whispers, "and I'll stop too. We're too lucky to get back here to be stupid at each other, even me, and I was always better than you at being stupid."

"I don't know, I've kind of taken the cake at this point," Leo laughs, the sound watery as he buries his face into Elliot's shoulder with a quiet huff. His hands lift to grasp at Elliot's coat, fisting tightly into his sides. "If I ever lose you again… I don't know what I'll do."

"You _can't_." He's said it before, but it's the kind of thing that bears repetition, and it's nothing he minds saying in any case. "You can't lose me. You own me. Hell, I live inside you." One long-fingered hand strokes up and down Leo's spine, soothing gently. "I told you. Forever. I don't care if we're just the ghosts of ourselves, I'm never letting you go."

"But-" God, it's not even worth talking about technicalities, and how if a certain chain wanted Elliot gone, Elliot would be _gone_. Leo shivers, curling himself up closer. "I'm sorry… that I brought you back like this." He sniffs. "Not sorry I brought you _back_, though."

Elliot frowns, then starts pressing gentle kisses against the softness of Leo's hair. It wouldn't be the first time it was the only way to calm him down. "You mean...what, taller? Or am I really that different?"

"I mean…" With his face still pressed to Leo's shoulder, he slowly shakes his head. "I'm selfish. I brought you back in a way that _makes_ you stay here, you know."

"_You_ have to stay. You think if I'd had the choice, I would have chosen to abandon you? I thought I told you to stop being stupid."

"… I figured you might hate me for everything, so who knows?" Leo sighs, headbutting Elliot's shoulder. "Sorry. I'll stop now."

Elliot grins at that, against Leo's hair, stroking one hand through it. "How could I hate the man who went out and got me a kitten?"

"You haven't even named him," comes the immediate accusation. "I'm starting to believe you don't really like cats."

"Sir Edwin," Elliot answers without a second's hesitation, casting a fond look at the fierce creature slumbering gently on the bed.

"It was between that and Edgar, wasn't it," Leo deadpans.

"Edgar? That useless waste of space?" Elliot sniffs. "I'm going to do you the honor of pretending I didn't hear that. It was between Sir Edwin and-nothing, I mean it was always Sir Edwin," he finishes hastily.

Leo's eyes roll toward the ceiling. "Uh huh. Well, I'm glad to see the honored beast is well-appreciated. He certainly likes you more than he likes me."

"Sir Edwin can sleep in the bed, right? I mean, just until he gets big enough for his own bed. He gets lonely when he's on his own, I can tell."

"Yes, and thank you for the concern regarding the bodily harm he bestowed upon me earlier, Elliot." Of course, now that all of _that_ is resolved, Leo can't help but feel a smidgen of anxiety returning concerning… other parts of surprises. Ugh. "I suppose I should get the thing a monogrammed pillow or something…"

It's just as Elliot is placing soft kisses on those scratch marks, soothing them with the touch of his lips, that his eldest brother opens the door _quite_ without ceremony or warning. "Master, it's ready when-oh," he cuts off, eyes widening as they fall on Elliot, and doubtless their rather _compromising_ position-not that they're terribly involved, simply that the two of them are together, and on a _bed_ of all places. "Ah, sorry, I didn't mean..."

The scowl on Leo's face couldn't possibly be more aggravated. "Do you and your brother _really_ need a lesson in learning how to knock?" he growls, and it's a pillow that flies off the bed, thumping into the doorframe next to Gilbert's head. "Not _now_, Gilbert."

Gil ducks, though he doesn't really need to, long years growing up in the Nightray house giving him plenty of practice avoiding thrown objects from pretty much every inhabitant except Vincent. "You said you wanted to know as soon as possible!" he points out defensively, and gives Elliot a little nod of greeting.

_Not the time_, Elliot tries thinking hard at him, and at least Gilbert takes the hint, bowing once more before leaving, shutting the door behind him.

Elliot's mouth curves into a grin, but instead of pressing the subject, he murmurs, "Oh, that bastard woke Sir Edwin up."

Leo's frown deepens. He could have at least _left it_, annoying bastard. "Of course he did, he's the most annoying out of all of them," he grumbles, even as he sags back down into the mattress, dropping his head into a pile of pillows. "And he almost ruined it, too. Before you ask, no, I'm not telling you yet."

"I didn't ask!" Elliot protests, injured even as he submits to being walked on, explored by the kitten. "This was supposed to be me trusting you, are you trying to ruin it by _ordering_ me to trust you?"

"I'm just making sure!" Leo eyeballs the kitten in question. "You know, he's not allowed to sleep like that. That's _my_ pillow."

"My lap is your pillow?" Elliot considers protesting, then thinks better of it, reclining back against the headboard, tugging Leo close against his side even as Sir Edwin, growing braver, tries to pounce on Leo's hair.

"_You're_ my pillow," Leo grumbles as he scoots closer all the same, his head coming to rest against Elliot's shoulder as he frowns down at the kitten. "Rude. My hair is off-limits, also."

"Can't blame him," Elliot says with a grin, tangling his own hand in Leo's hair, stroking through the softness of the strands. "It's a lot of fun to play with." Nevertheless, he tries to roll the kitten off to his other side, with poor to mild success.

"No one else gets to touch it," is the following murmur as Leo's head tips into the other man's hand, a little sigh leaving his lips. "Tell your kitten to mind his manners."

Elliot kindly refrains from making some reference to the fact that Leo is just as cuddly and feline as Sir Edward, with a hell of a lot worse manners. Instead he just presses a little kiss to Leo's hair, letting the kitten attack his own boot. "Both of you, behave," he says instead, making a silent vow to try and do the same from now on.


	10. Chapter 10

He can't even look at her.

It's the same, sickening guilt that he remembers swirling in his gut when Gilbert's memories resurfaced, when Gilbert clutched at Glen's severed head, long preserved within stone. Vincent finds himself amazed that he's _capable_ of feeling such palpable guilt all over again, especially for someone that isn't _Gilbert_, but god, in this situation-

No. It's still wrong to him. It still is something he shouldn't be feeling, and yet he shoves Oscar off into Zwei's care, having her escort the man to Ada's chambers to allow the girl at least that much solace.

_"Did you at least let her see her brother one last time?!"_

Vincent wishes he had been wrong, that the key really was at the site of Lacie's grave, but instead it's everything but that.

His fist connects with Gilbert's door, meaning to be a knock but instead, he nearly punches the door in his frustration, hard enough that the ache drags up his muscles and into his shoulder.

For once, he is certain that he doesn't want to do something.

The needle slips from Gilbert's grip and he stabs his finger, yanking it away before the bright red can stain the white of his latest project. He sucks it into his mouth, jamming the needle into a pincushion before getting to his feet, not nearly as irritated as he could be by the interruption. Any interruption is a good one, these days. The meditative, contemplative state that sewing puts him into is hell when he hates being alone with his thoughts, and it's been years since he's liked the company of his own mind.

Even though it's probably Vincent-_definitely_ Vincent, he sees-he opens the door, a bit more eager than usual for company. "You're not all dirty," he observes. "Did you not dig up that grave after..."

He trails off at the look on Vincent's face. It's odd, to say the least, nothing he recognizes, and after this long together, that's unusual. "Vince? Something wrong?"

The furtive glance down the hallway makes it clear that Vincent doesn't want anyone else to hear the following conversation. "… It's her," he murmurs as he lets himself in, stepping past Gilbert and into the room. "There wasn't any reason to dig up that grave, I knew it."

Gil shrugs, shutting the door behind his brother, clearing a spot for him on the couch, sweeping it with his fingers first to make sure it's free of stray pins and needles. "You thought she'd be lying," he points out. "Did Leo make you punish her? Is she all right?"

Vincent collapses back onto the couch as if he's a puppet cut from his strings, his eyes shutting as he breathes in a long, _calming_ breath. "Didn't you hear me, Gil?" he tiredly says. "It's _her._"

"I heard you. I'm just..." Gil stops, unable somehow to tease Vincent about his love life when he looks so despondent, so utterly defeated. "Hey," he says quietly, kneeling on one knee in front of Vincent's feet, gripping his upper arm. "What did she do?"

Vincent hates feeling like this

He hates that girl, and for a moment, thinks he might relish killing her, if only to make this stop and to make that stupid, niggling anxiety about her go away. "… Nothing," he says instead, cracking his eyes open. "For once, she didn't do anything. She… Gil, she's the key. _Ada_ is."

_Ada is the key?_ It doesn't seem real. It doesn't seem _right_. Ada, sweet, innocent, large-eyed Ada, who'd tugged on his coattails and shoved kittens into his bed and cried onto his shirt when Oz had fallen, who'd never stopped liking him even when he'd betrayed her family, who'd never blamed him even when he'd _kidnapped_ her...

Worse is what that means.

Gil's stomach turns sour, and he pulls back from Vincent as if he's turned to ice. "Zai did this." It's not a question.

"I can only imagine," Vincent slowly, coolly says, and perhaps it's the chill to Gilbert's own voice that steadies him and makes him think he's in the _right_ for being this upset. "Oscar said… that the key is sealed within her. The only way to release it is upon her death." He laughs, the sound _far_ from humor-filled. "Apparently, she was told that _Oscar_ was the key, under similar circumstances. Small wonder she didn't want to talk."

"I should have killed him when I had the chance. Chances." Gil's voice is bitter, too weary to be truly angry, long years of hating the man flaring to life so suddenly it burns in his chest. It's easier to be angry at the man he's despised for half his life than to think about what comes next...and what has to be done. "I knew she had to be trying to protect someone. She's not stupid."

"… I can't kill her."

He's said it, and it _hurts_, burns as bile rises up in his throat. Vincent glances down, surprised to see his hands shaking a bit, and god, this is just pathetic. He isn't supposed to care. Ada is just a girl, certainly not Gilbert by any stretch of the imagination, and yet-"I can't. Leo… is still going to ask me to."

There's nothing about this that's right, nothing about it that's _fair_, but there is some small, uncaring part of Gilbert that can't help but be a little pleased at hearing those words from Vincent's mouth-Vincent, of all people, and it's that little spark of empathy that makes him climb onto the couch, close enough for comfort, not so close as to be invasive (the kind of thing his little brother should really learn from). "Don't. You don't have to be his gun hand. Your job is to protect him."

"He _expects_ it." The words are spit out, bitter and sharp, and for once, Vincent doesn't crawl his way into Gilbert's lap. Instead, he seems content to maintain his distance, however shaky it may be. "If I don't kill her… I can't… _he_ can't do anything. He needs Gryphon, Gilbert."

"Is your stupid wish that important to you? Damn it, when the hell are you going to realize that _none_ of this mess is your fault?" It's a conversation they've had a thousand times, and Gil bites it off. That's not what this is about, in any case. He lights a cigarette, needing one more than he can ever remember needing one, remembering with a sickening lurch how much he'd wanted to be like Oscar, those happy days in the sun. "Maybe he won't. Maybe if he takes Raven from me first, he'll be powerful enough to figure out a way to...I don't know."

"You know he won't." Vincent sucks in a ragged breath, and he holds out a hand before he can stop the reaction. "Give me one." _I don't want to think about this, I don't want to _do_ this._

"It's bad for you," Gil says automatically, but with little real conviction. Vincent's got enough to deal with today. Maybe he can skip the lecture, just once. "You don't know what he'll be able to do," he says, handing over a cigarette and match book. "I don't think even he knows. With all five black-winged chains, _and_ Elliot?"

The match sparks without hesitation, and Vincent tosses it back once the cigarette's lit, breathing in the smoke like it's his last lifeline. "If you're insinuating that he's going to bring her back after killing her, I highly doubt it. Leo doesn't have the time or energy for it. She'll be dead and stay dead and that's…" Exhale. Inhale. "In the end, maybe that's… safer."

God, Gil is tired of losing people. He hears Raven's ancient dusty croak of a laugh in his mind, telling him to try it for another few hundred years and see how he likes it. Begrudgingly, stomach forming into a stone as hard and cold as the rest of him feels, he smokes in silence for a few minutes. "Not the worst fate. We've seen worse."

_Throw those emotions away,_ a man had told him once.

"… I just can't do it. Not this time." Vincent laughs, so damnably _tired_ that it almost is starting to become honestly funny. "You probably think I'm losing it, don't you, Gil? After how many people I've killed."

Gil snorts out a puff of smoke, Vincent's gallows humor contagious. "As if I'm one to talk about the blood on my hands."

"Ironically," Vincent drawls as he sags back into the couch, "our master has yet to bloody his hands, after all this time."

There's the inclination to insist that Leo do it himself, if he wants it done so badly-but isn't it what they all want, really? Isn't it the only way to free Oz from the prison of his own body, to free Vincent from his own hell, to free the world from the constant threat of Jack?

It's been years since he's tried to get someone else to do the dirty work, after all. "Don't worry about it. I'll do it."

"What?" Vincent jerks at that, his eyes wide as he looks at Gilbert, frowning. "No. You can't, Gil-that's… it's not any better than if I did it."

"I can't shove something like that off on you. At..." Gil takes a long drag of his cigarette, trying not to picture how it would happen, how she would look. "At least I can make sure it doesn't hurt her more than it has to. I owe her and her family..." A lot more than that, but it's all he has to offer.

Vincent shakes his head again, a shaky hand flicking ash off of his cigarette. There's something to be said about how much _he_ doesn't want to do this-for reasons that he'd rather not think about, least of all how she'd cry, how she'd remind him that he had promised to _take care of her_-

"… I'll just bring it up to Leo." Smoking. Smoking is good right now. "He can decide what he wants to do, especially if we both refuse."

It's passing the buck, but at this point, Gil can't bring himself to care. The only other options are basically untenable, but will probably come to pass anyway. And who knows? Maybe Vincent is wrong, and Leo _will_ figure out a way to take the chain out of Ada without killing her. He's planning on doing the same with Jack and Oz, in reverse.

"Yeah. Good plan." He doesn't even bother pretending, lighting another cigarette before the last one's embers have cooled enough to touch. "Let's just get it over with. I'll come with you, if you want."

"You don't think I'm stupid? For not wanting to do this?" Vincent can't help but ask, because god, he certainly _feels_ stupid. He feels as if he's been hung out to dry by this girl and damn if that isn't the last thing he's ever wanted.

Gil sort of wishes he couldn't understand, that it could be a shock that anyone would feel stupid for not wanting to kill an innocent girl. He knows, though, and as much as he wishes it were a shock, it's probably for the best that it isn't. "I think we have limits," he says instead, rubbing his pricked, bruised fingers hard along the fabric of his trousers. "Even us."

"… Maybe you do," is the quiet reply before Vincent takes a last, shuddering inhale from his cigarette, the meager nicotine from it hardly enough to calm him. "You've always been better, Gil."

Gil plucks the cigarette butt from Vincent's fingers, crushing it out in one of his crowded ashtrays. There's no hint of a smile among the bitterness as he says quietly, without any hint of artifice, "I've never understood why you always thought that."

At that, Vincent does laugh, open and genuine. "Because you _are._ You've always protected me, Gil, even when you haven't remembered me. You're too good of a person… it's why you always get so hurt. It's why I wish I could protect you as well as you've always done for me."

"The list of things I haven't protected you from is a lot longer than the ones I have. Just...just because you don't tell me about it doesn't mean I don't _know_, you know." It's more than he's ever admitted about some of the things he suspects, has suspected for years, remembers from a lot longer ago than that. "I've failed you a lot more times than I've done right by you."

Vincent's eyebrows arch. "How could you have failed me if I did most of those things on my own volition?" he prods, far more grateful for this conversation than letting his mind linger on one pretty blonde girl down the hall. "Certain things you weren't mean to be involved in, Gil. That doesn't mean you weren't protecting me properly."

Gil sighs, raking a hand back through his hair, resting his head back on the couch. "Maybe back in Sablier I did right by you. After..."

The guilt is an insidious thing, snaking into him at odd times when he'd thought it long-since defeated. Maybe if he'd been braver about reclaiming his memories, if he'd tried harder, pushed Vincent to tell him-

"It doesn't matter." It's a simple response, and one that Vincent hopes is enough, especially when he reaches out, grasping for Gilbert's sleeve to gently tug. "It doesn't matter," he repeats, looking up at Gilbert with a weary sort of smile. "You're still perfect to me, Gil, regardless of what you think. You've always done right by me. Just now, even… you tried to protect me from this mess, even when you don't have to, not by a longshot."

Maybe the both of them are too far gone for anything good to come out of this. Maybe that's why he's always been pulled back to Vincent, even when he'd been tempted, so very, very tempted to just let go of his hand, lose that weight, try to shut his ears to Vincent's screams of his name back when he'd escaped the freak show.

He's always been a selfish bastard, when it comes down to it.

"It wouldn't have mattered," he says suddenly, meeting those mismatched eyes with his own. "Even if you'd never existed. I'd still have been a Baskerville. There isn't a time I remember before I saw those lights." He swallows hard, catching Vincent's hand with his own. "Whatever you might think, I'm glad I'm not here alone."

When Gilbert says things like that, it almost makes him want to take back that wish, and instead push forward the lie he'd told Ada-that he simply wishes for Gilbert to be _happy_.

And then he remembers that Gilbert doesn't know everything that he's done, how terrible of a person he truly is, and how Vincent regrets none of it.

"… Regardless of what happens, I'll make sure you end up happy, brother," Vincent murmurs, and his fingers tangle their way around Gilbert's to lightly squeeze. "I'll make sure to never leave you behind, just like you did the same for me."

When Vincent says things like that, his meaning shaded so subtly that anyone who doesn't know him would take him at face value, there isn't a thing Gilbert doesn't regret. There's nothing left that he hasn't said, no more ways to tell Vincent he doesn't _want_ to be happy if he's all _alone_, nothing else he can think to do to show his brother just how much he's wanted, valued, _needed_ for all his oddity.

Every time he realizes just how hopeless it is, it makes him hate life and himself a little more.

"Come on," he says, tugging Vincent up to his feet with their joined hands. "Let's get this the hell over with. Maybe then..." There's nothing they could do afterward, no amount of sleep, no amount of drowning it in liquor and cigarettes and sex that will make it hurt less. The only thing Gilbert can hope is that after this is over, it'll be _over_.

Vincent allows himself to be drawn to his feet, keeping hold of Gilbert's hand a moment longer before unwinding his fingers, forcing himself to stand alone no matter how it hurts and how he _wants _to fasten himself to Gilbert's arm, to his side, any part of him. "It's a selfish request, but," he begins, heaving a sigh as he looks apologetically at the other man, "will you at least… tell our master? I'm not sure…" _I can get through it without saying something stupid. _

Gil doesn't hesitate, nodding instantly. Honestly, it's probably for the best. "Just don't do anything stupid while I'm gone, will you?" He wants to give Vincent another touch, another squeeze of reassurance, but his brother is a grown man, not a child having a nightmare. He pauses just before reaching the door, adding, "And don't just sit here and brood. That's my sort of thing."

"… Would you prefer I put on something nice for you and wait in your bed instead?" At this point, he can't _help_ it.

That draws a derisive snort from Gil, but at least it comes with a half-hearted grin before he shuts the door.

Once outside, it fades entirely, the ever-present closeness of Vincent no longer able to distract him from the idea of what's going to happen, probably tonight. He makes his slow way down to Duke Baskerville's room, this time at least remembering not to barge in, and it's with a heavy hand that he raps three times. _At least let them be wearing clothes..._

It's only a moment later that the door lurches open, producing a rather sleepy looking Duke Baskerville, dressed well enough if not rather tousled. "Gilbert?" Leo's head tilts to the side. "Well, I was expecting Vincent, but you'll do. I expect you-" He pauses to yawn. "… have something to tell me about the key, if Vincent is back?"

Gil nods curtly, wishing he dared smoke anywhere in the manor except his own room. God, if there's any sign that it's a bad day, it's that he can't go five minutes without his fingers twitching to his coat pocket. "Vincent's resting. We found the key." Better to get it over with as soon as possible, really.

Leo blinks, the abruptness of the statement snapping him wholly awake, no matter how he's inclined to still be suspicious. "Where is it, then?"

Gil's hand clenches so tightly his fingernails draw blood from his palm, but he forces the words out. "Zai Vessalius put it inside Ada. It...looks like the _easiest_ way..." He bites his lip. Leo's not stupid. He'll understand.

"Inside-" The realization is like a smack across the face, one that leaves him rocking back onto his heels and silent for a moment. It's one thing to have a chain sealed within another person, but a gate's _key?_ Leo can't even imagine how that's done, nor an easy way of… extracting such a thing, unless… "Did she know all along?" he settles for, bitterness settling into the pit of his stomach.

"No. I..." Gil swallows hard, thinking over everything Vincent had told him. "I don't think she even knows now. She thinks it's her uncle. Maybe he's telling her, I don't know." His hands twitch, and he grits his teeth, cursing his master's father for everything he's worth. "Vincent thinks the only way is to kill her, but-if you had Raven first, you could find another way, couldn't you? With all your power?"

Leo hesitates, and he slowly shakes his head. "I don't… think Raven would make a difference. Keys, as far as I know, were never meant to be sealed in _people._ It's like… turning them into a box that has to be broken open."

Gil wants to scream. "But you don't _know_ that," he says, pleading, trying not to sound as pathetic and desperate as he feels. "Please, Master, there _has_ to be another way. Look at her, talk to her, see if there's _something..."_

"I've _looked_ at her for days now," Leo exasperatedly replies, a frown on his lips. "If that key had been easily accessible, I would have _sensed it._ Instead, it's been right here under my nose, which leads me to believe it's buried within her so deeply that there is nothing else that can be _done._"

But he _hasn't_, Gil wants to protest, he's had Vincent try and pry information out of her while he plays with cats and dresses and diamond rings. It's with no shame that he sinks to his knees, begging, "Is there anything? Please. Maybe-maybe Jack knows something, or old Master Glen, or _someone_-"

Leo's face twists in disgust. "Gilbert, get _up_," he mutters, taking a step back for good measure. "I'm not letting you go and ask Jack to how to remove a key that could potentially destroy him forever-don't you think he'd give you a bit of false information there?"

Gilbert's shoulders sag, even as he hauls himself back to his feet. He should have known better, really. Vincent and Leo were always the geniuses. Of course they'd be the quick ones to grasp that there's nothing to be done, even as Gil clings to his foolish hopes. "Then...you'll..."

"… Vincent will probably want to deal with her," Leo eventually says, his gaze flitting to the side as he frowns. "At least, I'd imagine so, after how he's been around her since she came here."

"No." _Not this time, Master._ "He won't do it."

Leo blinks. "What? Did he say that?"

"Yeah." It's irrational how angry it makes Gil that Leo had simply assumed, no matter how much sense it makes. "He's your bodyguard, not your executioner. Do it yourself."

"I-" Leo's face flushes, a mix angry at Gilbert's blatant, obvious disrespect and thoroughly taken off guard all the same. "Fine. I will! And you can tell Vincent to stay away from her until then, if he doesn't want to deal with this."

He's pushed his luck this far, Gil figures he might as well go the rest of the way. "I want to go to Pandora tonight, too. It's better that I put more seals on Jack before he has the chance to wipe away the last ones, and Oz deserves to know about Ada." It's not a question, not really, and Gil firms his jaw, not really wanting to know what Leo sees in his eyes.

"Go already, then," Leo bites out, a hand already on the door and fully prepared to slam it in Gilbert's face. "It's obvious how much I can count on the two of you in the midst of this already."

That makes a cold rage boil up in Gilbert's belly, and his hand slams into the door, preventing Leo from closing it. "We're not your slaves," he says quietly, eyes boring into Leo's odd dark ones. "We serve, you protect. That's how it _works_. Fealty for honor. Loyalty has to _mean_ something, _Master_."

Leo flares up, a scowl on his face as his fingers dig into the door, grasp white-knuckled. "It _means_ that you get what you want at the end of the day! I never said you were my slaves-_you two_ are the ones that go out of your way to do everything over and beyond, and now, in all of this, you're running out?"

"We go _out of our way_ because we remember what it's supposed to be like!" Gil snarls, shoulders tensed as if he's expecting battle, hand no longer trying to twitch to his cigarettes, but to his gun, though he doesn't let it go there either. "The Baskervilles used to be a _family_! But as long as you get your own, you don't give a shit what happens to either of us, _any_ of us, do you?"

"I-" Jaw clenching, Leo steps forward, shoving the door open further as he steps out into the hall towards Gilbert. "I never wanted this, you know! I never asked to be forced into this, I never _wanted_ servants or any of this power! If you're so damned _sure_ of what to do with all of this, then maybe you should be Glen after all!"

"No one wanted this life!" God, it feels better than it should to get some of this off of his chest, where it's been stewing for a lot longer than he should have let it. "Yeah, we know, least of all you, and you remind every single one of us how you'd rather be anywhere than with us, how you'd rather be dead than be our leader every damned day. Not one of us chose to end up here, any more than you did, so stop acting like you're the only one who's lost anything!"

"What _you've_ supposedly lost is sealed safe and sound in the bottom of a dungeon!" Leo snaps, flaring up further with each word. "Are you really trying to tell me that's the same thing, when a simple little wish will make it all better for you when it's over?! Don't you dare tell me that I don't 'take care' of any of you! I could have just as easily walked into the Abyss and never _come out._"

Oz's face, wan and drawn from lack of sunlight, lack of joy. Vincent, twisting himself into knots over his poisonous desires. Glen's severed head, cradled in his arms. His body moving, betraying him, because of promises made when he was no more than a child, the threat of the only warmth he'd ever known being snatched away. "This isn't about what I've lost, or how much worse you could be! You don't even try! You'll kill that girl because it's easier than trying to help her, and you'd kill Oz if you could, and I'm not as naive as Vincent to believe you have any interest in giving us something in return!"

"If you think I want to kill her, you're wrong!" It comes out shrill, too close to hysterical for Leo's liking. "She-if I could help her, I _would. _You think just because I don't watch her all day like you and Vincent do, that I don't _see_-you have _no idea _what I see every day, and I know, just from her being here, that there's nothing-" He sucks in a ragged breath. "And you're _wrong_ about Oz, too. If I wasn't trying, I would have just killed him-I would have found a way, because it's still easier than all of this!"

"Well, what the hell else am I supposed to think?" Gil growls, no longer caring about keeping his voice down, no longer caring about anything at all, much. "You ignore most of the Baskervilles, you make us do all your dirty work-you expect us to be grateful just because you could have killed yourself and didn't? There isn't one of us who hasn't tried!"

"What the hell do you want me to do?!" Leo spits out. "In case you haven't noticed, there's not much I _can_ do anymore, other than wait and try to slowly piece all of this together! Believe it or not, the voices in my head aren't terribly helpful most of the time!"

The frustration wells up in Gil, so strong he wants to shoot someone, which is probably not a great reaction. Worse is how he has nothing to offer, other than a bitter, impotent wish that Leo could be more like his real master, more like the man whose soul he carries, who Gil is irrationally sure would never have let the situation get this bad. "Stop punishing us for being human. Vincent doesn't want to kill an innocent girl so you don't let him see her before she dies? You owe him more than that!"

"I never said he couldn't see her! I-I just said I'd _take care of it_." He's so angry that it's hard to breathe-or, really, not as much angry as he is just forcing back the urge to slam the door in Gilbert's face and curl up and _give _up. "Isn't that what you wanted? Me dealing with something for a change? Or am I just never going to be the Glen that came before me, and so you'll always hate me?"

"You did! You said to keep him away from her if he wouldn't do it! Just like you don't let me see Oz unless you're happy with me sewing you dresses!" He doesn't want Leo to be right, but god, he remembers when those eyes were on a man he'd gladly have given his life for, had nearly given his life for more than once.

Slowly, he forces a breath out through his nose, trying to keep himself under control, hands clenched so tightly he almost hears bones pop. "I don't hate you for not being him. I just don't trust you like I trust him. Trusted."

"The reason I don't let you _see him_ is because of what happened last time." God, now Leo has reached the point of just being _tired_, and that never bodes well. "Obviously that hasn't happened every time, but the chance of it is why I try to keep you away. _Sewing_ is at least something you can do in the meantime, unless you'd rather keep your brother company all of the time instead." Leo reminds himself to breathe, even as a reflexive hand lifts to pull at a strand of his bangs, as if that'll help cover his face even when they aren't quite long enough. "And I meant… Vincent's just going to cause trouble about that girl… Ada. It's better if he stays away, and I haven't exactly heard a request of his to go near her again, anyway."

It sounds like pathetic rationalizations made after the fact, by a child too small for the heavy velvet coat around his shoulders-and so much of the time, Leo wears it well enough that its easy to forget that that's what Leo is, when it comes down to it. He's so different from the reclusive, innocently-smiling servant Elliot had brought home years ago that it's easy to forget they are the same person, more or less.

Gil shoves his hands into his pockets, the heat from his outburst fading away, leaving him even colder than usual. Then, unexpectedly, he starts to laugh, though there's no mirth in it. "It doesn't matter anyway. You're going to erase Vincent, aren't you? Then you'll never be Glen at all. None of this matters. God, what a joke."

Leo's lower lip trembles before he can stop the reaction, though he sets his jaw after the fact. Somehow, that manages to keep his voice steady as well, though Leo can't remember a time recently when he's tried harder to keep it that way. "Then you should be happy about it, shouldn't you? That I'll never be here to mess things up so badly."

_It doesn't matter. I'll be dead a hundred years ago, and none of this will ever have happened, all because he doesn't believe me when I say I love him. _"There's nothing to be happy about. Just give Vincent a break. He's not as tough as he thinks he is." He grabs for a cigarette, ignoring Leo's rules as he strides away, not wanting to look at those sad, bullied eyes anymore. "I'm going to Pandora."

"Gilbert-"

_It's not even worth it_, a little voice tells him, one that is wholly Leo's for a change, and so he sinks backwards, stepping back into the bedroom and shutting the door with a slow, heavy thud behind him.

When it comes down to it, he's really not meant for this job.

"What do you know about the Vessalius key?"

Gilbert doesn't even wait until the Pandora dungeon door is all the way shut behind him before asking the question, Raven stirring restlessly in his mind, one hand on his gun though he'd rather use it on himself than on Oz again. He doesn't even know who'll respond, whose green eyes he'll see when the boy turns around, but he tries to be ready for anything.

The gaze turned in his direction is wide and honest, and openly surprised at the sudden query, to boot. "… The Vessalius key?" Oz echoes, shutting a book that he's read for the umpteenth time as he slides off of the bed, bare feet hitting the floor with a quiet thump. "I… not much of anything, why? Aren't I supposed to be asleep when you're here?"

This is stupidly dangerous, and for not much reason. It's not like he has much hope he'll accomplish anything in any case, no matter how the guilt, and the wounded look on Vincent's face tells him he's _got to try_. "Because if you or him know anything it could save your sister's life. Please." He swallows hard. "It's her last chance."

"… I really was never told anything," Oz slowly answers, concern quickly taking over his expression as he steps closer to the bars. "After all, I was thought dead and gone when my uncle handled that sort of stuff… why? What's happening? What's wrong with Ada?"

Gil doesn't want to do this. But the idea of Oz finding out from anyone else...

"She's..." There's a lump in his throat, the tears welling up even as he tries to force them down, something he's never been the most successful at. It's harder with Oz looking at him, worried for his sister, and god, seeing the two of them happy together was all the light Gil's ever wanted to bring back to the world. "She's the key. Duke Baskerville thinks so, anyway." He drops his gaze, unable to meet Oz's eyes, burying his face in one hand as he confesses, "He's going to kill her if I can't find another way."

"_What?_" Oz lunges forward before he can stop himself, his hands wrapping around the prison cell's bars no matter the initial shock of connecting with the outermost barrier of the seal. It's there as a precaution now, of course, and something he tries to avoid as much as possible, but he endures the pain to be that much closer to Gilbert, worry and anger twisting his face. "You can't let him kill her! There has to be _something_ that you can do!"

Gil can't help himself, closing with the bars before he can remember why it's a bad idea, hands closing tightly over Oz's no matter the shocks he'd put to remind himself as well why this is so stupid. "I'm trying, but I don't...I don't know how to undo it, and Leo-" He bites off that bitterness, unhelpful as it is. "Everyone just wants it to be over, but...if you know anything, if...if Jack knows anything. I'll listen. You have to believe I don't want any harm to come to Ada."

Oz shakes his head firmly, even as his fingers tighten around Gilbert's, squeezing tightly. "We can't talk to Jack about this," he says, shoving the shake from his voice even as he struggles to calm down. "I… even if he knows something, he won't tell us. He might even _lie_. He doesn't want that key released, because he knows what it means for _him._"

"It's getting released." There's a rough, despairing edge to his voice, no matter how he squeezes back, glad in that moment that at least Oz is here, at least Oz understands. "No matter what we do, because he'll kill her if there's no other way. I..." His breath hitches, and it's a lot harder to be brave around Oz than it is facing down Leo. "I'll-at least do it myself, so...I know...she won't..."

"You can't kill her," Oz admonishes, his grip turning vice-tight, as if that'll prevent Gilbert from leaving and doing just that. "Gil-there has to be some other way. Has Leo talked to her? I know he wouldn't _want_ to kill her…"

"I don't know what he wants anymore. He's not the Leo you knew, Oz. He's Glen now." Glen, who hadn't wanted to, but had put hundreds, maybe thousands of people to the sword when he'd had no other choice. "I tried to get him to talk to her, but...I lost my temper," he admits, face flushing.

"That's a lie." Oz yanks on Gilbert's hands, dragging him closer still to the bars to frown up at him. "He's the same. I can tell, just in the way he looked at Elliot. Leo hasn't changed… but if you've lost your temper with him-now, or before-you've probably _scared him_ into making you think that. You can be really mean sometimes, you know."

No matter how much Gil wants to protest that Leo _is_ different, that Oz hasn't seen his cruelty, his callousness, his imperiousness, all he can do is whisper, "I'm sorry."

Because Glen is wrong, and Oz is as much his master as Glen, with less of a claim on his soul and more of one on his heart. "I want to believe you. But...no matter if he's the same old Leo or not, he will kill Ada to get the key if I can't come up with something, and fast."

Oz draws in a slow breath, loosening his grip slightly. "I know," he quietly says, "and I don't want that to happen more than you or anyone else. But… Gilbert, if there's no other way, then you have to let him do it, and you can't… you can't _judge him_ for it. The Leo I knew couldn't as much as push a kitten away, let alone really hurt someone… well, outside of throwing a table at Elliot, but that's different. I can't imagine he wants to kill her either, but this isn't about what _we_ want anymore. It hasn't been for awhile."

_But you knew that all along, didn't you, Gil?_

It's hard to tell whose voice it is in his head, though the taste of dust reminds him of Raven's croak of a chuckle. _Admitting that you knew from the moment Vincent said something that she'd have to die...that isn't something you want to do, is it? You're not here to find another way._

_You're here to find absolution._

Stupid. There's no absolution for him.

"Then...this is going to be the last time I come here." Gil swallows hard, forehead leaning against the bars. "Once he has Gryphon he'll take Raven from me, and that'll be all he needs."

"No." Oz stretches a hand up, tangling a hand into Gilbert's hair to gently tug. "Once he does that-if he can do that without a hitch-then that'll mean I'm free, right? It won't be the last time, Gil."

Gil's own words come back to haunt him-that after Leo grants Vincent's wish, none of this will have mattered, none of it will have ever happened-and for once, it's almost a comfort. Ada won't have died, Oz won't have suffered in this prison, and who knows how many countless atrocities (and kindnesses and small acts of beauty and friendships) will never have been?

But Oz doesn't need to know how close to the brink they all are. And it hasn't happened yet; there's always the sliver of a chance he'll get through to Vincent, after all.

He lets himself be tugged close, a tiny smile on his face. "Yeah, Oz. Though you'll have to take care of me like when we were kids... I won't be a contractor anymore."

"You're still plenty capable without a chain," Oz sniffs, withdrawing his hand with a flick to Gilbert's forehead. "And you've got another master now, too, you know. Leo's your master, too, so you should be giving him some respect, at least while I'm in here. I don't want to hear about you losing your temper on him again-what sort of servant does that? You have to trust him to do what's right."

Gil bows his head, properly chastised. "You're right. I'll apologize to him as soon as I get back. I'm sorry." Strange, how it seems easier to apologize to Oz than to Leo, even when it was Leo he'd wronged. "I get really...I didn't like how he was treating Vincent."

Oz sighs as he sinks back down onto his heels with a shake of his head. "Still. You know better. Leo is… well, regardless of how he's been lately, he's always been shy. You yelling at him didn't help, especially in a bad situation like this. It's not easy for _anyone_, Gil… and I… I wish I could be there to help you, and help Ada, but…"

"Leo? Shy?" Gil can't help but snort at that, and god, it's easier to talk like this, about silly things that don't mean much, than to talk about what's going to happen all too soon. "Sometimes I forget that you didn't know him for very long. He's a lot of things, but he's never been shy."

He starts to reach through the bars, but thinks better of it, no matter how he wants to run a gloved hand over the softness of one smooth cheek, the way he _knows_ Oz's skin feels now. "I wish you were there too. Don't worry. I'll have you free soon."

"There are a lot of different kinds of shy-you're one kind, too," Oz insists, even as his eyes linger upon the twitch of Gilbert's hand, and how it's so _obvious_ what Gilbert wants. "Leo isn't me, and he isn't your previous master, either. Stop comparing us, first and foremost… and tell Ada I love her while you're at it, all right?"

Despite what the Raven croaks in his ear, Gil does feel a little better, a lessening of maybe twenty of the thousand pounds weighing him down. It's not enough, but he's never really happy, and at least this way he can do something for Ada.

He nods, then beckons Oz closer with a sigh, tugging off his glove. "Might as well lock him down tighter while I'm here." He swallows hard, then promises, "I swear that if it has to happen...it'll be as easy as I can make it. And I'll tell her."

Obediently, Oz leans back forward, pressing his head to the bars, no matter the sting of it. "Take care of her as much as you can," he softly says. "And once I'm out of here, I'll take care of you. You've always taken care of everyone, Gilbert; you need a little break."

_I don't want a break. I just want you. _

Gil lays his hand on Oz's forehead, relieved at least to see that the seals he's laid are still in place, covering them with stronger ones yet, now that he's rested. He lets his hand linger too long, and doesn't care, fingers moving up to briefly ruffle Oz's hair. "I'd do anything to make you happy."

"Have chocolate waiting, then," Oz simply replies, a grin on his face as he pulls back. "And stop looking like you want to die already. There's an end to this yet, Gil."

_That's what I'm afraid of._

But just now, it's hard to imagine that brilliant smile fading into nothing, and it's never failed to bring the ghost of one to his own lips as well. He fishes in one deep coat pocket, pulling out a little bag. "Truffles, from that shop you like downtown," he says, handing it over. "Don't eat them all at once or you'll get sick."

The grin turns to a full out beam, and Oz snatches away the bag without hesitation. "You're perfect! I'll take my time, don't worry. I wanna savor them."

Gil's smile is soft, fond, even as his heart aches. He slips away, not wanting to say the words of goodbye aloud, knowing that no matter what comes next, it won't be long now.

And he's got quite an apology to make.

Really, it's been awhile since he's felt this pathetic.

The eventual process of dragging himself from Gilbert's room too far longer than it should have. That being said, _Gilbert's_ taking far longer than Vincent anticipates, and upon leaving, he finds out the man has taken a course towards Pandora, leaving Vincent to fret all the more.

He needs to be alone, and stay that way. It's far better that way.

The first rip of fresh, unmarred curtains makes him exhale a long breath, and god, but he hopes he isn't interrupted. It's one room that's always been off-limits for him-the main music room that has been relatively untouched, save for Leo's occasional bursts of insomnia that left him locked away with the piano for nearly days on end before he'd finally fall asleep at it.

Another rip of sharpened scissor blades through fabric, and Vincent starts to be able to see straight again. Would he be able to tell her goodbye? Did he even want to?

What was even the point in _caring?_

Elliot had thought he'd be useful.

He'd thought he'd be _helpful_.

He remembers seeing his brothers and their chains, all the members of Pandora with great looming guardians, affectionate and loyal, and maybe that had been some consolation for the fact that he can't stop suspecting he's left something behind in the Abyss, some part of himself that he can't reach, can't touch, can't put a name to, but that he's supposed to _have_. Maybe if he still had it, Leo wouldn't be unhappy. Elliot can't remember a time when Leo had been so unhappy Elliot couldn't fix it with a hug and an apology.

It's been days since they'd fought, and Leo is no less upset. No matter how Elliot apologizes, something awkward and unfamiliar with how _much_ he's doing it, Leo just insists that he isn't angry, he just wants to forget-but he's not happy.

It's with the sinking conviction that nothing is ever going to be right again that he asks for some time to himself-not to find Leo a present this time, but because it's suffocating in Leo's soul with Jabberwock and the others, and he can't bear to see the sadness on his lover's face. He doesn't exactly _mean_ to seek out the music room, but it draws him as much as anywhere else, and he winces to see how much dust has accumulated on the piano since his death.

He takes little notice of anything else, relaxing onto the bench, trying to close out everything except the way his fingers play across the keys-rusty, sloppy, and he nearly flips the damn thing over, annoyed at the way he's playing for two years of not practicing.

It won't sound good, anyway. It's only half a duet.

Vincent pauses, just long enough to watch Elliot come inside, long enough to see him sit at the piano and start to play. The sound of quietly, slowly ripping fabric is buried in the sound of the piano, and for a moment Vincent thinks they can properly ignore one another and brood in their own respective silences.

And yet, he's the one to blame here, because he can never keep his mouth shut, nor can he miss the chance to deflect his own thoughts, to shove away his damnably _annoying_ feelings for a girl that is, undoubtedly, going to die. "_You_ look cross," Vincent lowly offers, his scissors snagging into the fabric a bit as they slide downward, and his attention redirects briefly to that task, all in favor of leaving a ragged scar across dark velvet.

Elliot's fingers trip, the next note gone sour at the surprise interruption. Once he pauses, he hears the sound of ripping fabric, in its own way an odd mix between disturbing and soothing, a memory held over from childhood. He cranes his neck just far enough to see Vincent, not smiling for once, taking to the curtains with demented determination.

Elliot considers for a second yelling at him to stop defacing the manor, but it's not as if there's anyone left who will care anyway. "Doesn't matter," he mutters, switching to a two-handed scale. "I'm just a ghost."

"Aren't ghosts see-thru?" Vincent mildly retorts, not looking up from his task at hand. A strip of heavy fabric falls away to the ground, and he continues with a low hum underneath his breath. "You're not doing a very good job of being scary, either."

"You're good enough at being scary for both of us," Elliot snaps. God, this score used to be _easy_. Nothing's really easy these days, though part of the problem is that his reach has changed before he's had time to adapt. "They used to tell me all kinds of lies about you to keep me away from you. When I was little I thought you were going to suck out my soul in my sleep if I didn't eat my vegetables."

Vincent pauses outright at that, looking up with a dully affronted look on his face. "Which one said that? Claude? No, probably Ernest."

"Ernest," Elliot confirms with a nod. "If it had just been Claude I might have listened. His warnings were too boring to be pretend, but Ernest used to make things up." The callouses on his fingers rub together, swordfighting clashing with piano, making his fingers stumble even as they loosen up with the practice. "That first time, when I came into your room? Ernest told me you were capturing boys from town and turning them into your dolls. I had to see for myself."

"… Ernest always had quite the imagination," Vincent drawls, his eyes rolling skyward before he turns back to his task of shredding, neatly dissecting the curtains into long, entrail-like ribbons of fabric. "And he was never quite satisfied when a person was simply _down._ He had to be the one to put them there. Small wonder he made up so many stories about me."

Elliot shifts on the bench. It's the kind of thing he wants to refute, the kind of thing he _would_ have, once upon a time, when he'd believed in his big brothers and the smiling faces they always showed him. With the return of his memories by Humpty Dumpty, just before his death...it's considerably more difficult.

He grabs a random page of music, something written in a small neat hand that he recognizes all too well, though he doesn't know the song, and starts to play. Almost casually, he remarks, "Leo told me you killed Father."

Vincent's lips curl into a wry smile at that. He isn't surprised, of course; what surprises him more is that Elliot hasn't confronted him, or perhaps punched him before this point. "Did he, now?" Another shred of curtain hits the floor. "I did it for you. Does that make it better, or worse?"

It's not an easy question to answer. The notes fall into a mournful minor key, something that almost hurts his heart even playing it, even if he's not doing it right yet, and the thought of Leo left alone writing music like this for years...

"I used to have a lot of bad dreams," he says instead of answering, bent over the keys to better read the tiny notes. "Even before Sablier. I didn't want Father to think I was weak, so I never told him about it. I wonder if he knew about that too."

"Your father was a horrible man," Vincent murmurs, in no mood to sugarcoat as he stabs higher up the curtains, shredding downwards with a thoroughly audible rip this time. "I daresay if he knew, he wouldn't care. A good thing his blood seems to run so thin in you, Elliot."

"Does it?" Elliot asks, fingers slamming a bit harder into the keys than he'd intended, notes of heartbreak acquiring a wrathful streak. "Everything I've found out about them-they're-they were, I mean...cruel. Cold. They didn't care about anyone but each other and me. I killed them."

There are angry tears in his eyes, but he plays through them, biting them back. "I killed Vanessa, and Mother, and Ernest and Claude, just because they were going to kill Leo. I did. I'm just as bad as any of them ever were."

"That wasn't you," the older man follows with a little tsk, shaking his head. "There was a chain influencing you, Elliot. There was nothing you could have done to prevent it, either… none of those deaths are meant to leave your hands bloody." Vincent pauses, his gaze sliding over towards Elliot for a moment. "If anything, the blood is on me… seeing as I couldn't kill them before you did."

"You shouldn't have had to." God, he should pick up a different song for this, something he'll butcher less, but at this point he can't stop. "You got sucked into their-you should have gotten adopted by a family that wasn't...poison."

Ernest and Claude, probably Fred, murderers. Father, a murderer and a liar and who knew what else. Mother, a would-be murderess and who knew what else. Vanessa, the same. "We kill everything we touch. There's a reason our roses are black."

"Oh, now you're just being overdramatic," Vincent sighs out, letting his scissors slide shut with a quiet glide of metal. "What's gotten you so upset, anyway? No one died this time." _Yet. _Ah, he needs to keep cutting things up.

Elliot's fingers falter to a slow, uneasy halt, and he feels far younger than his years when he looks up at his big brother. "What do you know about Glen Baskerville's soul?"

"It's old," is the deadpan retort initially offered. "Truth be told, not as much as I'd like, but I don't think most 'Glens' have ever been forthcoming about what goes on within their own minds… why do you ask?"

"Leo is...different." His hands rest on the piano, tapping nervously, betraying his state of mind. "Sometimes I wonder...how much is really him and how much is Glen, and if that's going to keep changing."

Ah, this, of course. Well, far easier to talk about someone else's emotional problems than his own. "How should I put this… you were the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with." Best to be blunt about it, while he's at it. "You died. It was his fault. That takes quite a toll on a person, you know." _I'd know._ "It has little to do with whether he's Glen or not, though that has _some_ bearing… the duties that come with the name and what have you."

"He just seems so..." Wounded. Broken. Like an injured bird that can't figure out how to fly again even after the wing has healed. "We always used to fight about everything-or I did anyway-and now when it happens he just...I hate feeling like I'm hurting him, even if he _is_ more powerful that I could ever be. And I can't _ask_ him about anything because no matter what's happened, he blames himself, and it's _not_ his fault," he finishes, eyes blazing as he looks up at Vincent. "None of it was, it's not his fault he was born with that destiny hanging over him, and he didn't _force_ me to go anywhere, so if you're the one that's telling him it's his fault I'm dead you can _stop _it!"

"I haven't told him a thing." A shrug follows the words as Vincent's gaze turns away again, languidly picking his way through the remnants of the one curtain he's shredded thus far. "I'm merely repeating his words… though they do have some merit, even if he gets a bit cyclical with his depression… I've found that it's best simply not to bring it up at all. He was certainly worse before you returned, of course."

Elliot takes a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. The temper has been a little better since he came back, partly due to the lack of being able to properly vent it, but it's still _there_. The next glance he casts at Vincent is a little guilty, no matter how jealous. "I...I never knew how to ask you...this might be...awkward."

Vincent tilts his head to the side, preliminary amusement flickering over his expression. "Are you going to ask me if, when, and how I slept with him?"

"No! Idiot!" Elliot slams the key cover shut, embarrassed beyond the point of looking at Vincent. "I-he told me, but-I want to hear from you...he said there was..."

It's not going to be any better for waiting. "Are you upset that I came back? Did you want to keep him?"

"Oh, _god_ no." Vincent tries not to laugh, but it's impossible at this point. "You can keep him. I mean no offense by that, of course," he quickly amends, "but _really_, he's a high maintenance little thing, especially when he's in one of his moods, and I am quite happy to say my heart is stolen by another. Our moments together were… how should I put this." He lifts his scissors up, idly tapping the blade against his lips. "A sort of mutual punishment, at the very best."

Finally, that sick jealous thing in his stomach disappears, after far, far too long of holding onto it. It's swiftly replaced by disgust that he doesn't bother to hide, as he turns back to the piano, pulling out another sheet of music he's never seen. "Leo told me that, too."

"Then I hope you can realize I meant no disrespect by sharing the bed of what is clearly yours. Really, it was sort of pathetic in how it all started, anyway," Vincent sniffs. "At least he hasn't continued the habit of falling asleep wherever he falls down nowadays."

He had, once, but... "If he does now, I catch him," Elliot mutters, letting his fingers relax into the new song, finding it just as disturbed as the last. "By the way, remind me to have words with you and Gilbert about your familial duty. Someone's got to carry on the family name."

Vincent tries not to roll his eyes again. He fails. "Gilbert wants to bed that Vessalius boy, I have no interest in marriage," he boredly recites, moving on to a second curtain. "And that aside, what woman would marry a Baskerville in this political atmosphere? _Really._"

"You're both _Nightrays_," Elliot points out, bristling. "And I don't care if what Leo says is true and I don't have a single brother who likes women, there's still your _duty_. I'd have done it if I hadn't...you know."

"Can't you go and make little chains with another chain or something? Better yet, find one that can turn Leo into a woman for the night. Keep the Nightray name, that should work out well for you."

Instead of yelling, or blushing, or anything that he's sure Vincent expects when teasing him, Elliot just stares at him. "You're dealing with Leo now. Do you _really_ want to deal with nine months of cravings and morning sickness?"

"You're implying it would be much worse. He's already all over the map, perhaps something good would happen there, too," Vincent sniffs, unfazed.

Elliot glares at him. "Fine. I'll get Gil to get married. He's a lot easier than you to guilt and bully into stuff. It's not like Oz would ever...you know." _No matter what Leo says about how he looks at me. Leo just sees that kind of stuff in people._

Vincent wants to kindly point out that, oh, Oz certainly would, probably has, and would again, but there's no use trying to convince Elliot of something that he won't see. "None of it matters, anyway," he tosses back instead. "After Leo grants my wish… none of this will." And that's his only solace now, isn't it?

Elliot frowns, partly from leaning forward to peer at the tiny notes that just aren't lining up, partly at Vincent's words. "I heard about that, too." He shakes his head, annoyed with Vincent, annoyed with Leo for writing something so difficult to get his fingers around. "Leo said..." No, he can't bring it up. Even now, there are some things that are too embarrassing to say aloud.

"Oh, did he actually tell you?" Vincent can't help but sound amused. "About my wish? It's a G-sharp there, by the way," he adds, as if he's heard it three dozen times (and probably has).

"I know it's G-sharp!" Elliot snaps, though hearing it does make the note appear a bit clearer on the page. "You don't even play."

He probably could, though. He'd always been like Leo, in that way, always good at whatever he'd tried, even though he didn't feel like trying that many things. "He told me. He said you want him to kill you."

"I've turned enough piano score pages," he replies, sounding bored as he snips away the curtain's cord, just for the fun of it. "And it isn't quite that. I don't want him to kill me. I want him to erase my existence."

There's always been something...not quite _right_ about his elder brother. "That's dumb. You're dumb. That doesn't even make _sense._" He slams his hands down, glaring up at Vincent. "That kind of thing never works out! I've read it in a dozen books! If you change the past, you won't exist, and there's no one to make the past change! It's obvious!"

Vincent merely looks at him, nonplussed. "My existence never caused Gilbert anything but pain," he simply says. "There's no _reason_ for me to be there. I gave Duke Baskerville a couple of options-I could be miscarried, or even die at birth if dealing with my existence in the womb was too troublesome…"

The notes aren't coming out right no matter what he does, everything a confused messy jumble like his thoughts, and Elliot can't help the way his lip curls in disgust. "I thought Leo was just making fun of me, but you really are in love with Gilbert, aren't you?"

A smile immediately, cheerfully comes to Vincent's lips. "Does it bother you, Elliot?" he sweetly inquires. "Gilbert is my world, and his happiness means everything to me. There's no shame in that, is there?"

"Of course it bothers me! You're his brother, that's disgusting!" A loud, dissonant chord reverberates as Elliot slams his hand down again in a way he hasn't mistreated a piano since he was a child. "Even _you_ must be able to see it's perverted!"

"If it's love, can a person really judge what is perverted or disgusting?" Vincent plucks at a ribbon of velvet before slicing into it. "At least I'm not fucking a goat or something along those lines… although being with a man is seen right around the same level either way, isn't it, _Elliot?_"

Apparently, even being a chain, being no longer human, no longer subjected to the weights of family obligation and noble scrutiny, isn't enough to purge those memories. Elliot hunches over, face burned scarlet, feeling suddenly very small. "Forget it."

Maybe his father had known about that, too, like he'd apparently known about everything else.. _Maybe that was why he didn't care about saving his last son_, a little voice whispers into his mind.

Vincent shrugs. "You're a chain now; I do believe you're rather above the laws of society… and that said, your contractor is the most powerful man alive. Don't concern yourself with it, and do well to not concern yourself with others' intimate business, either. It's just wise." He chuckles, twisting a piece of shredded velvet about a finger. "You aren't the only full-blooded Nightray to enjoy the company of a man, anyway… has Leo told you that, or has he simply enjoyed spreading rumors about Gilbert and I?"

That, of all things, makes Elliot's head jerk up, eyes wide. "I-no, he...he said he didn't know, I was only joking around..." Just how depraved is his family, anyway? "What do you know?"

His brows arch high, and Vincent sets his scissors briefly aside, finding a bit of relief in gossiping about horrible individuals. It's a soothing balm to his nerves, go figure. "I'm not terribly sure I _should_ relay so much, if it hasn't been offered to you before by anyone…"

Damn it, this is the sort of thing that always comes with being the baby in the family, and it makes Elliot grind his teeth in frustration. He can't just blink sadly up at Vincent either; that had never been nearly as effective on his adopted brothers as on his full-blooded ones. "You're annoying," he mutters, flipping through the pages of the song. "No wonder Leo didn't like having you in bed."

A wry snort follows that. "I can assure you it wasn't my prowess that was the problem, but merely his _preferences. _And if you are _that_ curious, it was mostly Ernest. He enjoyed his fair share of torment."

"Like you, then?" Elliot asks, before censoring himself. "Men and women both so long as you can play your little games? I've seen you at those stupid parties."

Vincent smiles again at that. "The difference, little brother," he purrs as he turns away from the curtains, slowly making his way over to the piano bench and elegantly taking a seat on the very edge of it, "is that I prefer my bedmates to be of a much higher breeding."

"And he used to knock the maids around, I know," Elliot mutters. It's one of the few things he _had_ known about, something too commonplace for them to keep from him, though it hurts his pride to admit it.

"Not just the maids." Vincent leans back slightly, his shoulder connecting with Elliot's. "His trips to Sablier, to the orphanages that the Nightray family managed… those were always telling."

"I..." Elliot sighs, leaning back into Vincent, and it's odd that he's so much taller than his big brother now, no matter that he's grateful for the warmth and solidity of _family_, odd as it is. "I heard them say things sometimes, in the carriages when they thought I was sleeping. About...the merchandise, the stock, that sort of thing. I know we didn't own any farms."

"Girls-and boys-he'd pull in from smaller villages," he confirms with a nod, gaze idly sliding to the music score in front of Elliot. "I saw all the books, at one point. Not that I needed to; Ernest had a way of running his mouth off in the bedroom and I heard everything I needed to at that point." Vincent turns, reaches a hand out, idly flipping to pages near the back of the manuscript. "Some of the older ones, and especially the pretty ones, he'd test personally. It's a lucrative business, even if they are used goods."

"It's so hard for me to believe. I never saw that side of him, you..." Elliot trails off, his brain catching up a few words too late, a sinking horror in it as he turns to stare at Vincent. "Did you just say..."

Vincent shrugs. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. It protected Gilbert for a little while, at any rate, and made me seem quite harmless in comparison."

Elliot swallows around a lump in his throat, then leans forward, forehead thumping against Vincent's shoulder so he won't have to look up at him. "That's unacceptable," he mutters, shamed almost to the point of physical illness. "You never should have had to. I-I tried to tell him off for picking on Gil, but...I'm sorry. For my family, _our_ family. God, it makes me sick."

"… You always were the good one," Vincent murmurs, glad that Elliot can't see the momentary surprise that flits across his own face at being _apologized_ to for something that was honestly his own decision, as despicable as it might have been. "Really, it's not your fault. Nothing they did is."

Elliot sits in silence for a few minutes. He wants to protest, to say that it _is_ his fault, it's everyone's fault who's ever involved, no matter how remotely, no matter if they don't know or not, because otherwise nothing is going to change. "I really...wanted to change things."

Something occurs to him, and he stiffens suddenly. "_All_ the pretty girls and boys?"

"Well, given his stamina-apparent." Ah, things he shouldn't joke about. Vincent leaves a mental reminder to himself to censor his words, at least mildly. His little brother really is quite innocent still, all things considered.

"At..._all_ the orphanages?" It's a question he doesn't want to know the answer to, but that doesn't excuse him from asking. He's done enough hiding from the truth in his life.

_Here we go. _"He had no tendency to discriminate."

Something soft is breaking, somewhere Elliot can't hear, and he can't help but remember what Leo had said about _all other nobles_ and how Elliot was the first, the only one who hadn't...

And Vincent knows. Has known, probably the whole time, that's obvious.

Elliot lets out a slow breath, closing his eyes. "Did he tell you? Or do you just...know, like you know everything?"

"Ahh… you're a bit mistaken," Vincent murmurs, glancing down to examine his nails as a distraction. "Your father had very clear instructions regarding my master while he was at the orphanage-all the better for observation, to see if he truly did harbor Glen's spirit. Ernest didn't lay a hand on him there."

Elliot grabs Vincent then, strong hands on his slender shoulders, turning him forcibly, and _god_ it's weird to be bigger than him, even if all he's focused on is...

"_There_?"

Vincent merely looks up at him, unfazed and unblinking. "It wasn't until you brought him home-just before you left for the academy, if I recall correctly."

Elliot stares down at him, wanting, wishing, _willing_ the words to be untrue, even as they hang flat and heavy in the air. His hands fall to his sides, and he sags down onto the piano bench, all the fight gone out of him. "He was supposed to-this-I'm glad they're dead." He's never said it aloud before, but it doesn't feel wrong. Ugly, and twisted, but not wrong. "I'm glad. Thank you."

"… You're obviously not supposed to know," is the eventual response, and Vincent shifts, turning fully about to continue flipping through the last pages of the music score. "And my master has never been inclined to dwell on such things, so you would be much better off leaving it be. He didn't finish this one," he swiftly changes subject with a nod towards the manuscript in front of him, no matter if Elliot isn't looking. "Cried over it quite a bit, though; you should do something about _that._"

Elliot's eyes focus on the music-always the easiest, the best escape from the pressures of the family, of the life he'd never really wanted-and the notes make sense. Absently, he grabs a pen from where he knows Leo hides them, jotting down a few notes here and there. "Should I pretend like I don't know?" He lets out a bitter little laugh, and that goes into the song as well. "I know it's odd to ask you for advice, but I think you know him better than I do right now."

Vincent's lips wryly twist. "I'd hardly say that. I merely know his _moods_ lately. But no, I wouldn't feign ignorance. He'll see right through you, and consider it an insult. I'm sure he can respect that you found out about it; he just doesn't want your pity. I think he's had enough of it lately as it is."

"I'm bad at lying to him anyway," Elliot mutters. It's something that he'd once considered a point of pride, honesty in the snake's den. Now, he realizes just how deep those lies had gone, and it makes him sick.

God, he needs to think about something else, _anything_ else. "I never thanked you," he says abruptly, changing the subject. "For telling him I was sorry."

"No need; it was an honor." Leaning forward, Vincent makes a point of blowing a warm breath over Elliot's neck. "But you need to stop apologizing to him now that you're back, because words are empty without the force to back them. I doubt, before all of this, that he clung so fiercely to a person that was on his knees for him all of the time."

Elliot's hands clench into fists, but it's with angry at himself, not with Vincent, anger at his new form, at his new _limitations_. "I hate being a chain. I hate needing his permission to leave his side, I hate needing his permission to _exist_ in the world, I just want to be _myself_ again, damn it! But I can't say any of that, because he thinks it's all his fault that I'm dead in the first place, and he doesn't need that guilt too, not when he's..._you_ know."

"Mmm. Would you have stopped yourself and not told him something so important before?" Vincent inquires, dropping his head idly to Elliot's shoulder. "Honestly, I doubt he fully thought through this whole… bringing you back idea."

"It was an accident. Neither of us meant for it to happen, but..." Elliot huffs out a breath, resting his head against Vincent's. "I'm not sorry to be back. It...I can't remember much of what it was like down there. All I really remember is missing him. Now that I know his soul is never going to be reborn like everyone else...yeah, I'm not sorry. You understand," he says, a little surprised to find that he thinks Vincent _does_ understand. "You'd do anything for Gil, wouldn't you?"

"I would," is the easy agreement. "And even if you aren't sorry about being back… you should still let him know what you aren't fond of. I really can't recall you ever biting your tongue before."

"But that's a useless emotion, isn't it? I used to just yell all the time because I knew Leo was worse than I was, and nothing ever made him...he's sad all the time now. I don't know what to do when he cries."

"Unhappiness begets unhappiness," Vincent drawls. "Between contractor and chain, such things can easily be channeled, even. Air your grievances and call it done."

After a moment, Elliot has to grin, giving Vincent an affectionate little punch in the shoulder. At least his status as a chain doesn't prevent him from doing that much. "You're a really weird guy. Thanks."

He stands, making sure not to just dump Vincent onto the bench. "I'm gonna go yell at my idiot servant. But...if you feel like being weird in here again next time, I guess that's okay with me."

"… That's probably not going to happen again," Vincent sniffs, rubbing at his shoulder where he's been 'lightly' punched. "All things considered. But go yell at him, just try not to be too noisy in the aftermath. We have guests, after all."

That doesn't bear answering, so Elliot ignores him (except for the brightening of the tips of his ears), grabbing the music sheets before running off to Duke Baskerville's room, pounding on the door. "Oy! Leo! I want to talk to you, so let me in!"

"Do you _have_ to break down the door?" is Leo's growl as he wrenches it open nonetheless, scowling up at Elliot. "What's the hurry for?"

Elliot stalks into the room, pushing past Leo and slamming the door behind him, mindful of Vincent's warning for them to be quiet, and oh god, he doesn't want to think of what the others in the mansion might have heard. "I really hate being your servant!" he growls, folding his arms. "And I really don't like having to ask your permission before doing anything or going anywhere, and when this is all over and done with, I think you should figure out some way to fix that! And if not, I'm going to keep being annoyed about it!"

Leo stares openly, jaw dropping before he has the sense to close his mouth after a short, shocked pause. "I-where is all of this coming from?" he manages as he recovers, flaring up in his own right. "You're my chain, it's not really something I can change, you know!"

"If you can go back in time and punch Vincent's mother in the stomach when she was pregnant, you can fix me!" He plants his hands on his hips, a glare in his eyes. "You're some awesome powerful Duke, you should be able to give me a little more, I don't know, solidity! Realness! Something! Because you need to know that that's the _only_ thing that pisses me off!"

There's that urge to simply _gawk_ again, wide-eyed and entirely taken off-guard. "I… I don't really know… if I can, um, grant the wishes of… chains?"

"It doesn't have to be right now. But when you've destroyed the Will of the Abyss, you'll be able to do lots of stuff with your black-winged chains, right? So." He folds his arms, shrugging. "That's what I want. It'll help me protect you more, anyway."

God, Leo just has to _laugh._

Of course Elliot would have a request like this. _Of course._ Leo turns partially away, burying his face into one hand as he laughs, shaking his head. "You really don't get it, do you? After I kill Ada, after I destroy Jack, free Oz-I'll be granting Vincent's wish, and there's no telling what will happen then."

"So don't grant his stupid wish. It sounds dangerous anyway. Come on, Leo, you _know_ that changing the past never works out in books. There's...what if..." He swallows hard, taking a hesitant step forward. "I couldn't deal with never meeting you, and there's a chance that could happen."

"But-" Hesitating, for all of a second, Leo then shakes his head. "I promised him." _I'm not just doing this for myself. I'm not. I'll keep my end of the bargain, just to prove Gilbert wrong, if nothing else-_

Then again, Gilbert has never seemed terribly thrilled about Vincent's wish either.

"… If I don't grant his wish," Leo says, glancing back up at Elliot, worry flickering over his face. "Ada… she'll stay dead. Your parents, your brothers, your sister…"

"You think I'm so much of a coward that I'd want to undo everything? Those things happened. They'll keep happening. And if we _fix_ it, we can stop things like that from happening again, but if you do this...there's no telling." The unknown is terrifying, worse than death, thinking that everything that is might never have been, and Elliot bites his lip, trying to stay firm. "Do you want it all to have been for nothing? Worse yet, what if you grant his stupid wish and everything is a thousand times worse, except we're not together to fix it? Is that chance worth it?"

It's not a possibility that Leo likes to think about. Before, it hadn't mattered-before, Elliot was _gone, _and how things replayed out never mattered. Now, bile rises in Leo's throat at the thought of somehow not being at Elliot's side after one hundred years played all over again. "That doesn't… make it feel any better," he murmurs, a hand lifting to gingerly press at the bridge of his nose in exasperation before falling away as he looks down again. "Not keeping that promise. And… everything that's happened so far."

Elliot slams his hand hard against the wall. "You don't have the right to decide that! I don't care if you are Duke Baskerville and I _am_ your chain, I have the right to make my own choices! And I have the right to keep my own past! You can't make that choice for everyone in the world just because Vincent feels guilty, or because you do! You don't think I know by now that my family deserved what they got?"

"I-" Leo sucks in a ragged breath before shoving himself forward, scowling up at the other man. "You think you know everything-you always think that! I don't want to lose you more than you want to lose me, but I still-I'm _trying_ to do the right thing! I thought you'd _want_ a chance to be with your family again!"

"My family is dead! I mourned them! And-" This part is the hardest, something he's not even sure if he can say aloud, but for Leo's sake, he has to try. "By now I think I know that the world...is better off without them."

"… You don't even know the half of it." God, he doesn't mean to say that out loud, but it comes out anyway, leaving him to flush hot. "F-fine If you're fine without them, then so am I! I'll… I'll deal with Vincent somehow, just-stop telling me what to do, your orders are always awful, anyway!"

Elliot takes a big step forward, more determined than ever. "No one said you had to listen, but I'm still going to treat you like the kind of master who should take care of you!" He swallows hard, but Vincent's right, and Leo _shouldn't_ have to deal with this all on his own. "And I do know the half, or the whole of it. Vincent told me."

Leo's head jerks up, his gaze sharp, suspicious. "He-what?" A pauses, and Leo looks ready to throttle something. Someone, rather. "I'll kill him."

"Don't. I-he didn't tell me, exactly. He told me…things, about Ernest, and h-him. I guessed the rest." He unclenches his hands, sighing out hard through his nose. "I get why you didn't tell me. I just…I know, now. So you don't have to feel like you're keeping anything from me." _Maybe, just maybe, we can forget about it now._

"… It doesn't change anything, you know." The response is still wary, like he expects Elliot to lunge forward and try to shake it all out of him with enough apologies or hugs or _pity._ "It's not something I think about. None of it is. I don't want you to think about it, either, especially not when you're with me."

Elliot's face twists in honest surprise, shock, and a bit of horror. "I didn't-that never even _occurred_ to me, I-look, did I treat you any different when I found out about what you used to do on the streets? God, you act like that would change how I think about you! The only thing it changes is that I'm a lot less sorry about what happened to him!"

He scowls down at the floor, annoyed. "I don't want to talk about him."

"… Good."

The word comes on an honest exhale of relief, and Leo lurches forward, closing the distance properly between them for the first time since Elliot entered the room. "I'm actually pretty tired about you talking about _everything_," he says as he stretches up onto his toes, yanking on Elliot's lapels to drag him down. "I get the point already, so just _shut up._"

_Oh thank god I did it right. _It's the first time Leo's touched him on purpose in days, but breathing a sigh of relief would be the same as trying to give Leo pity about everything, something he obviously doesn't want. Instead, he grins, a hint of challenge as he says, "Why don't you just _make_ me?"

Leo scowls, though he needs no further encouragement than that as he lunges upwards, his hands following to tangle within the tail of Elliot's hair as he kisses him-hard and fast and hot, teeth too sharp in that instant and a bit too rough. _This better make you, you obnoxious bastard._

Elliot lets out a strangled yelp, though it turns into a snarl as he moves, grabbing Leo's waist in his hands and hauling him up, crushing him against the wall with his feet nearly a foot off the ground, the heavy weight of him a hard, demanding presence as he groans into the kiss, giving as good as he gets, tasting blood and wanting more.

The little squeak of surprise echoing from Leo's throat quickly turns to a groan of his own as he sinks back into the wall, content for a moment to sag beneath Elliot's weight with only half the mind to clamp his thighs to Elliot's hips and drag him in closer still. Leo's nails score down the back of the other man's neck, his body already a squirming, greedy thing as he bites at Elliot's lower lip, sucking it into his mouth only to release it with a ragged, eager pant, eyes dark as his gaze fixes upon Elliot.

This-this needy hungry thing, this writhing panting mess-is what Elliot _needs_. Every bite makes him harder, every nail scratch spurs him on, and the way Leo's legs lock around his hips makes him grind up between Leo's legs, the friction almost enough even with all their clothes in the way, ready to lose his mind just at the look in Leo's _eyes_. He only breaks the kiss to haul Leo up further, so he can bury his face in the other man's neck, biting, sucking hard, tasting that pale skin and marking it with a growl.

God, Leo can already feel the hard line of Elliot's cock press against him, and that's enough to make him nearly lose what's left of his sanity from the urge to grind against it-wriggling, twisting, squirming as he tries to rub against Elliot no matter the hold on his hips and how he's effectively trapped against the wall. It's all by Elliot's hand, and that makes it better, makes him pant and whine with each bite to his throat, each suck that he knows will leave bruises even as it sends hard shivers down his spine. "_Elliot_-"

"No _talking_," Elliot mutters against his skin, giving him a hard bite where neck meets shoulder, a soft flick of his tongue dragging over it as the ghost of an apology before he bites him again. It's been years since they've had each other quite like this, quite this _rough_, and Elliot doesn't even bother wasting the time to strip them, shoving a hand down the front of Leo's trousers, crushing him to the body with his weight, curling his hand around Leo's cock and stroking hard and fast.

"But-" Leo shudders hard, lurching up against the other man's calloused palm, his hands scrabbling against Elliot's shoulders, up his neck again to tangle into his hair and pull hard with each bite that sinks into his flesh. He writhes, Elliot's hand just a bit too rough, a bit too fast, but that doesn't stop him from _liking it_, especially when his back arches and he tries to rut against Elliot's hand, little more than base instinct driving him.

Just seeing Leo like this is enough, probably, with the way he squirms, the way he's hot and throbbing in Elliot's hand, and Elliot squeezes, strokes, twists his palm over the head, anything to drag out those sweet hissing breaths. Every yank on his hair lets him know he's doing it right, and he's painfully hard himself, grinding up between them even as he strokes, long practice teaching him _exactly_ how Leo likes his cock touched, long hard pulls from the soft base of curling hairs to the leaking tip, faster and faster as he bites and sucks new skin every time.

Each drag of Elliot's hand brings Leo to twitch, his thighs to tremble, and after awhile, there's nothing he can do but let his head fall back against the wall, groaning, hissing with each agonizingly good slide of Elliot's hand. He's not going to last, not like this, and undoubtedly that's what Elliot wants-to see him unravel into nothing and god, Leo _wants to_, but-

"Fuck me already," he pants into Elliot's ear, giving his hair another yank, his ankles crossing to dig his heels into Elliot's lower back. "You want to, don't you? I c-can feel how hard you are, just-"

He'd had some sort of a plan, hazy and half-formed, but fuck if it doesn't go out the window when Leo looks like this. It's the work of a moment to shove his trousers to his ankles, and he groans at the sudden release, lurching forward to pin Leo harder against the wall for a moment before moving to throw him over the edge of the bed, yanking his clothes off and spreading his legs, grabbing the oil from under the pillow. "Not gonna be gentle." His hands are almost shaking as he slicks himself, tipping a trickle of oil along the cleft of Leo's ass.

Burying his face down into the mattress, Leo can only moan, nodding to agree that that's fine, that it's _good_, even, as his hands knead into the sheets, his back arching and his hips pressing back with a visible tremor raking through his form. "Please," he whispers, shutting his eyes at the feel of his cock rubbing down into the bed, so hard, so stupid, ridiculously eager that even that's enough to nearly put him over the edge, let alone the thought of how Elliot is going to feel inside of him, too big and too _much._

It's less out of any desire to punish either of them, more because he can't _stand_ not having Leo this second that Elliot's far too rough, strong arms snaking around to splay over Leo's chest, dragging him back into the first long thrust as he drives in deep. He doesn't stop-can't stop, thank god Leo won't ask, couldn't stop if he tried-and buries himself to the hilt with each loud slap of his hips, each breathy grunt of Leo's name, every one feeling like it's going to tip him over the edge into sweet oblivion.

For once, Leo doesn't try to keep back his voice, a shriek wrung from his throat with each hard, deep thrust. It's as much as he imagined and more, always much more than he anticipates, and he sobs, legs quivering as he tries to splay them further apart, lips parted with each gasping pant as he reaches back. He scrambles to claw into Elliot somehow, no matter how that twist makes his muscles tighten further and leaves him mewling all the louder and sinking forward again, his own cock throbbing and hard enough that dizziness clouds his senses.

Elliot wants to attend to Leo, god, he does. He wants to hold him tight and stroke every part of him and tease him behind the ears, touch his chest, give him long hot kisses and stroke his cock, but none of that is possible when it feels like he's lost his mind. His mind, his consciousness, his _world_ narrows to filling Leo, as hard and as deep as he physically can, driving into him over and over, dimly aware that he's probably far louder than he'd wanted to be, and in Leo's ear no less, but unable to _stop_. He's probably hurting Leo from how tightly he's holding him, and even that thought just makes him tighten his arms _more_. "Leo-"

"_Nhn_-" It's supposed to be Elliot's name that he bites out, but Leo can do little but gasp instead, crying out with each hard snap of Elliot's hips against him, into him, leaving him shuddering and so, so full. He has the mind to reach down and stroke his own cock, as hard and desperate as he is, but he doesn't even need it, the next forward lurch and grind of his hips setting him over the edge with a gasping, desperate cry, sobbing out Elliot's name as he spills over the sheets, squirming back onto his cock with each shake and twitch that rakes through him.

It's impossible to tell what sends Elliot over the edge first-the way Leo sobs, the way he clenches down like a vice, the way he writhes-and Elliot near screams when he finishes, coming hard and hot and _god_ it feels like it's been longer than it has. It feels like it lasts forever, a pulsing, infinite thing that grabs him and shakes, leaving him twitching, sweating, clinging to Leo for dear life, still throbbing deep inside him. "God," he rasps, voice hoarse and _used_ like the rest of him. "You…you're…"

"Don't… pull out," Leo gasps out, groaning as he sinks forward, wriggling down to press his face into the bed with a deep, heaving exhale. Everything aches, everything won't stop _shaking_, and he's lucky that he even has a voice, with how it's already reduced to a husk. "God… _god_, Elliot, I missed you, fuck me like that again-"

Elliot presses a hot open-mouthed kiss to one of the swelling bruises he's left on Leo, petting a hand through thick soft hair. "I'm not going anywhere," he breathes, promising a hell of a lot more than the next few minutes. He shifts his legs, getting into a better position, moving slow and shallow to keep himself hard, trailing his lips over the pale expanse of Leo's shoulder.

Leo shudders as he sinks down into the mattress, just _enjoying_ the slow press of Elliot's cock deep inside of him even if he's so recently and totally spent, with little more to offer than his uselessly quivering body. "You were _loud_ for once," he lowly taunts, exhaling a shaky laugh. "Everyone's… gonna know what you just did to me."

Elliot laughs, low and hungry even as he nuzzles into Leo's hair, gentle kisses behind his ear. "They'd know just from the way you're gonna look." His voice is nearly a purr as he hitches Leo's hips up, scooting them forward so he can lay Leo more fully onto the bed. "I think you like everyone knowing what I'm doing to you."

"Yeah," Leo agrees on a sigh, huffing out a breath as he squirms underneath Elliot, twisting back slightly in order to steal a wet, breathless kiss. "I hope every last one of them is jealous, too."

"Yeah?" Elliot asks, low, teasing, into the kiss. One hand trails around to rub slowly at the soft, sticky length between Leo's legs, urging him back to hardness. "Who do you want them to be jealous of, hm?"

"God, _me_," is the breathy groan to follow as Leo's hips lurch forward on their own accord, no matter how he's still so over-sensitive that Elliot's touch almost hurts. "E-everything you do… feels so good, and they don't get _any_ of it."

Elliot doesn't bother pointing out that half the people in this house are his brothers, who he only _hopes_ wouldn't be jealous. That's not the point, and he drags his hand up Leo's pale thighs, up his hips, to rest on his slender waist. "Mmm, they should be jealous of me. No one else gets to see you when you come undone, do they?" he asks, hips moving in urgent little circles.

Leo's skin heats further at that, a desperate little moan leaving his lips as his cock swells, legs spreading wider as his hips grind down slowly into the mattress. "You're still the far better choice," he sighs, arching his back with a shiver. "Because _god_, that feels good…"

"I feel pretty good myself," Elliot confesses, groaning as he braces his hands on the bed, resting his weight there instead of on Leo's ribcage. "God, the way you arch your back like that-you look-" He hardens inside Leo even as he watches the slow undulations, the way Leo's legs spread eagerly.

"You like it when you can take me like this, don't you?" Leo murmurs, his cheek pressing to the mattress as he rocks his hips back, biting his lip at the way Elliot feels inside of him. "What is it? The way you can hold me down?"

Elliot huffs out a laugh, grinding down, deeper with every gentle rock of his body, and he leans down to brush a kiss down Leo's spine. "Nothing like that. I just like watching you wiggle around. And it's easier to do this," he adds, curling one hand underneath and dragging his fingers up Leo's cock.

God, it's a _good_ reason, and Leo groans into the sheets, eyes fluttering as he makes an effort to wiggle that much more, trembling with the drag of Elliot's hand. "You could hold me down… if you wanted. I'm yours, I want the m-marks you left… to stay…"

It's not real; it can't be, because Elliot won't be the kind of man who leaves marks that'll stay on Glen Baskerville, no matter if he's alive or dead or _other_. But it _feels_ real, when he bites and sucks just under Leo's jaw, delicate skin bruising and reddening under the assault, when he grabs Leo's wrists and pins them by his head, every slow, deep thrust making him groan at the tight heat surrounding him. He doesn't need to say _you're mine_; the marks do that for him, and will for the next several days.

And _that's_ nice, being loosely pinned, caught by Elliot's hands and ravished by his mouth, leaving Leo's breath to quicken, his body to arch back again, a low whine leaving his throat with every slide of Elliot's thick cock into him. His own cock aches again, full and dripping and leaving him wishing he could rut into the mattress, but held as he is, hips hiked up, body already quivering from the strain, there's nothing he can _do_. "G-god, Elliot-"

It's easy to feel the effect it has on Leo with every slow undulation of his hips, every shivery twitch of his body. Elliot gives him what he wants, long, deep strokes, nearly pulling out with each thrust, then sliding back in hard, angling to hit him just right on every stroke. "You like it when I take you like this?" he breathes, pinning the smaller man to the bed harder and harder, hands leaving bruises on those pale pretty wrists. "You like being held down and given more than you can take?"

"_Yes_-" It _is_ too much, every deep thrust of Elliot's cock enough to make him shudder and squeak, voice breaking into breathless, mindless noises when Elliot pushes deeper still and makes him sink down into the bed with how good it feels. Each time he hits just right, Leo feels like he's going to break, his body squeezing tight and aching all the more for it. "F-faster-Elliot, please, fuck me-"

Above and beyond the way Leo thrashes beneath him, the best thing of all is those _noises_ he makes. Every time Elliot moves, every time he buries himself, the slap of flesh on flesh obscene in the quiet of the room, faster and faster, it's to wring more of those pretty, pretty noises out of Leo's throat. His teeth tug on an earlobe, and god, he's close, even being _near_ Leo is enough to get him close. "Scream for me."

It's probably irresponsible to want that, but god, they haven't had nearly enough times when they've been _allowed_ to be as loud as they want, and he'll never, never tire of Leo's voice.

At any other moment, Leo might laugh at him, tease him for apparently _liking it_ when he's loud-but right now, god, what is he supposed to do but obey? Even if Elliot _hadn't_ said it, he would have been gasping at the way Elliot's cock fills him, stretches him so achingly wide, and it's not a far reach to let the breaking whimpers and whines of his voice escalate into a shriek when Elliot hits him just right, leaves him quivering and lurching back to grind himself on the other man's cock.

"I-I-" His cock jumps with each thrust, and Leo moans, face hot and buried down into the sheets. He's so _close._ "I c-can't-Elliot, want you to _fill me_, please-"

Elliot damned near screams himself. Leo's so tight, so hot, so perfect around him, squeezing with every shudder, and when Elliot arches up to _stare_ at him, he's lost. Leo's a pretty thing at the worst of times, but now-arching-panting-quivering-writhing on his cock, spread open and stretched out, so full he couldn't close his legs if he wanted to-

He's not gentle when he comes, so savage it feels like a punishment, his only saving grace that Leo's so slick with fluids that it's an _easy_ slide as he lets go, filling Leo more, emptying himself with every hard, brutal thrust inside and an unintelligible shout. "F-fuck, _Leo_!"

God, he's a mess, so full of Elliot's cock that it _hurts_ for his body to tremble and squeeze around him like it is. It's enough knowing that whenever Elliot pulls out he'll be dripping, useless and _used_-and that sets Leo over the edge more than anything, sobbing into the mattress as he comes without a touch, his voice breaking on a hoarse keen of Elliot's name that might as well be a mantra by now.

Elliot's arms give out, and he collapses on top of Leo, muscles twitching, breath a shallow, gasping thing. He's rarely felt so utterly drained in his life, as his head tips forward, just enough to nuzzle at Leo's hair before he goes limp. "Not moving," he mutters, "so don't ask."

Leo groans at that, only pushing back slightly in protest. "Heavy," is his not-quite complaint, and he sighs a long, shuddering sigh. "But you feel really good like this, Elliot…"

As much as he wants to stay boneless and draped forever, the body has needs, and with a wince, Elliot pulls out as gently as he can, rolling at least halfway onto his side and tucking Leo up into his arms. "This better?"

"Mmhm." Leo is quick to nestle back against him, trying not to shudder too much at how _empty_ he now feels. "Do all of that more often," he sighs, leaning his head back to nuzzle beneath Elliot's chin. "I miss it."

"Now that," Elliot murmurs, hands stroking softly down through Leo's hair, down his spine, "is the kind of order I like, _Master_."

It feels like years later that he feels like speaking again, let alone moving. Even his fingers have stilled, tracing patterns over Leo's lower back, though he doubts Leo's any more asleep than he is. With every gentle exhale of Leo's breath, Elliot feels his hair move a little. Just now, like this, sweaty and tired and sated, it feels like he's really alive. "Hey," he says softly, quiet enough that if Leo's really asleep, he won't wake. "I like your new music."

If he's thinking about sleep, that goes out the window with that particular remark. "What?" The word croaks out a bit hazy, as near-sleep as Leo had been. "You… where did you find that?" Incredulous, now.

"Music room," Elliot says, as if it's obvious. "I needed to think. You did a lot of good work. I brought one of them in-it's unfinished, but I have an idea for the ending if you're interested…"

"… Can you even still play?" It's impossible not to tease Elliot about such things, after all. Leo rolls onto his stomach, resting his chin atop folded arms. "I bet you're rusty. Why should I let you add onto my compositions?"

"Just because I'm a little rusty-I can still play, you know!" Elliot bristles, reaching out a hand to tuck Leo's unruly hair behind his ear, touch gentle no matter the snippy tone. "It's just weird that my fingers are longer now, but I'm getting used to it. You stopped in the middle on so many of them, though."

Leo gives a little shrug at that, turning his head to the side to look up at Elliot. "I didn't feel like playing most of the time. It wasn't… really the same, without you there." He smiles wryly. "I bet your reach is incredible now, though. Nothing like my stupid, small hands."

Elliot walks his fingers down Leo's spine, grinning. "Small, but you were always good enough to make up for that. We can get back into practice together, hmm? Maybe you can write a song that's less sad."

"Well, now that I have something else to write about…" Leo sighs, stretching like a cat beneath Elliot's touch. "Once this is all taken care of… we can practice together again," he softly agrees.

Elliot leans over far enough to place a sweet kiss to Leo's shoulder, stretching out next to him. "All the more reason to get things taken care of. I'm rusty enough without waiting any longer." And I want to see you smiling again as soon as possible.

"… I need to talk to Ada," is the murmur that follows, and the subsequent plant of his face directly into the bed. "Ugh."

"Waiting won't make it any better. Do you want me to come with you?" Elliot offers, though he doubts he'll be much protection against the girl's tears, especially not if she's not actually attacking Leo.

"Not really," Leo grumbles, lifting his head up again to rake a hand back through his hair. "I just… I wish there was another way, but…"

"If there isn't, there isn't." Elliot sighs out a breath, scooting closer. "Ada's a noble. We're taught from childhood that sometimes we're going to be really important, and that comes with a big price. I mean, even if she is a Vessalius."

"Is 'death' usually among those big prices?" What's the use even in complaining, really, when he _knows_ he'll go through with it. More than anything, it's Gilbert's words that still sting, and Leo sighs as he shoves himself up into a sitting position, stretching out sore muscles. "Gilbert made it sound as if I hadn't done anything to try and… stop it. There wasn't anything I could _do._"

Elliot snorts. "What good are Gilbert's opinions? If he were any good at being nobility he'd have done something to carry on the family name already." It's still a sore spot, and he'll definitely have to have strong words with his brother later. "And yes. Maybe the Vessalius know that better than anyone, really. Look what happened to their mother."

"… Will you punch him in the face for me later?" Leo sniffs, making to get off of the bed and deciding to simply roll over instead. "I'm not the best at this, but he makes it out like I'm the worst master anyone could ever have. I'm just doing all I can."

"I'll punch him for you whenever you want," Elliot promises, and means it wholeheartedly. Whatever Gilbert's been doing for Leo, he obviously hasn't been doing it very _well_, or Leo wouldn't be so upset all the time. "What does he have to compare you against, anyway, except Oz? Vincent says Gil wants to bed him, by the way."

Leo barks a laugh at that. "Said as if he hasn't already."

"You-god, is that all anyone did while I was dead?" Elliot demands, eyes wide. "Everyone turned into perverts and started hopping into bed with each other?"

"Oh, good grief, it was a recent thing. Just the other day." Leo's eyes roll as he eventually does make it off the bed, rolling until he's forced to put his feet down and stand properly. "You know, when Jack decided to come and try and kill me. How do you think he managed to convince Gilbert to let him out? Really, 'nobles' think with the wrong head at the worst of times…"

"Only nobles?" Elliot's brows arch, and he really can't help getting a little dig in. "Not just scrawny servant boys who take comfort in the worst places when they're lonely?"

Leo shoots him a glare over his shoulder as he goes about locating discarded clothing, though there's little real annoyance behind the look. "Servants have timing better than most."

"And terrible taste," Elliot mutters, not _quite_ under his breath. He contemplates reaching for his trousers, then flops back to the bed. "You sure you don't want me to come?"

"Rude, insulting your own brother." Leo sighs, making a face at himself in the mirror as he fiddles with a stray strand of hair. "I'm sure. I can probably handle her better without someone watching the whole thing…"

"You're allowed to insult Gil but I'm not allowed to insult Vincent? That's hardly fair. They're as much your brothers as mine, you know," he adds, extending his leg to nudge a toe against Leo's ring hand.

"… Now you're making it creepy," Leo deadpans.

"Do you want to be married to me or not?" Elliot shrugs, not bothering to hide his smile. "He apologized to me, by the way. For bedding what was obviously _mine_."

"Good. Because he is kind of creepy," Leo sighs out, leaning back over the bed as he pulls his shirt on, fastening the buttons and pressing an absent kiss to the middle of Elliot's back. "He likes licking boots. Fair warning, because you have some nice ones and all."

Well. There just really isn't any way to respond to that. "That's...done along with the rest of it, yeah?" he calls, letting Leo go with one lingering kiss pressed to the back of his hand. "I don't want him licking anything! At all, preferably!"

"At least let him keep to Gilbert, otherwise he'll get bored." Ah, he wants to linger like this. Anything to _not_ go and face that girl, but Leo forces himself away from the side of the bed, his cloak scrounged up from the puddle it makes on the floor. "I'll be back." _Hopefully sooner rather than later._

"Good luck," Elliot says, and means it. "Whatever you have to do, I'll be here waiting for you."

A nod follows the words before Leo sweeps the cloak around his shoulders, leaving the room without another word.

All in all, it really is one of the last things that he wants to do.

He knocks, a last, reaching attempt at being _polite_, no matter previous methodology in bringing Ada here. It's a relief to know, at least, that Oscar has been properly escorted away from her-one less obstacle to deal with, no matter how he'll probably offer her one last chance to speak to him before the end of it all.

Assuming she makes this all _easy_.

_Ugh._

It's with as much grace as she can muster that Ada wipes her eyes, dabbing at them with a cool rag to try and take away some of the swelling, before opening the door. No matter how things have gone to hell, she gives Leo a tremulous little smile, and a curtsy befitting a Duke from a Duke's daughter and niece. "Duke Baskerville," she says with a nod, and stands back, pulling out a chair for him. "I...I'm afraid I don't have adequate refreshments," she says, pleased with how steady her voice sounds. Mrs. Prewett was right after all; once learned, some things would never fade. "But please make yourself comfortable."

He'll never quite get used to being treated like a noble, even after a pair of years having passed. Leo shrugs away that awkward weight upon his shoulders, draws in a steady breath, and steps into the room, ignoring the chair as he pulls the door shut. "You've already been told about… everything, regarding the key?" If there's a way to make this less painful, he's not sure he knows it.

Ada nods. Leo isn't exactly observing the pleasantries, but she's grown more used to that, over the years since society parties faded from her life. "Yes. I-if it's possible...I'd like to say goodbye to Mr. Nightray-Mr. Vincent, that is-first." She swallows hard, clasping her hands in front of her. "Then we can…" She can't quite bring herself to say it without crying, so she doesn't say it at all.

The surprise probably filters over his face before he can stop it, no matter how Leo blinks sharply to smooth his expression. "That's… that's it?" He shouldn't make the more difficult, but-really? "I… yes, I'll send him," he murmurs, his gaze shifting sideways as he reminds himself to breathe again. "Ada… for what it's worth. I don't… want to do this."

She blinks rapidly-damn, no matter how she'd told herself she was done crying, it feels like her eyes have different ideas, and she smiles to try and distract him. Leo has enough to worry about, after all. "I-I'm sorry I lied to you. If I'd known the truth I wouldn't have, but Uncle Oscar…" Her hands twist together. "This is more important than just me, but he's very special to me. Will you promise me he'll be all right?"

"… I won't harm him." It's the least he can offer, after all. "I'm sorry," Leo adds, awkward, strained, and it takes every ounce of effort in him not to curl up within the cloak draping his form. "I treated you… rather badly at times. But with the situation and all, there wasn't much else I could do."

"Oh, I know. You did what you thought was best." She takes a wavering little step toward him, then another. "I'd like to think we're still friends. I know we didn't spend much time together in school, but we were both so busy…" She laughs at herself a little, dabbing at her face with the handkerchief. "I'm sorry, I'm making a fool of myself. Was there something else you needed that I can…"

"No, there's nothing." Said perhaps too quickly, but Leo _isn't_ good at this, especially not with women, and it's a bad enough situation already without Ada starting to cry all over again. "I'll… send Vincent here." Deep breaths. He turns away, ducking his head slightly as he reaches for the door. "You can take as long as you need."

"Thank you." There's genuine gratitude in her voice, as she tries to compose herself, smoothing out her skirts as she sits on the couch. "Oh, ah-this might be a...rude question, but…" Her hands shake, and she clenches them all the tighter for it. "How will you do it?"

"To free a key that opens a gate to the Abyss… a knife to the heart, and a chain to pull you down to the Abyss itself afterwards. That will trigger its release." Leo grimaces, his fingers tightening on the knob. "I'll do my best to make sure it isn't painful. You can be unconscious, even, if you'd rather…"

It doesn't exactly sound like the fairytale way she'd envisioned as a child, nor like the dreamless sleep Uncle Oscar said had taken Mama. But then, fairytales are lies too, aren't they? "I think...I'd like to be awake. I don't want to miss anything." The smile slips from her face despite her best efforts, and she turns away. "But, ah, I may change my mind. Thank you."

"… Whatever you decide," Leo quietly offers, unable to look at her any longer and glad that he's already at the door. It's a quick retreat, thankfully, and he shuts the door with a heavy exhale.

And now Vincent-another thing he doesn't want to touch with a ten foot pole.


End file.
